See All Evil REWRITE
by LetsSingtheDoomSong
Summary: Duct rat Jamie Donovan knew the darkness of Rapture. Knew the dark secrets of those in power. All that knowledge just waiting for someone to tap in to. And that someone would be Augustus Sinclair, esquire. Augustus Sinclair/OC slowmance. Collaboration with CaliforniaStop's Scars of Utopia. Camille used with permission from her.
1. Hawk's Eyes

Dymond: Seeing my dear CaliforniaStop start her rewrite kind of jumpstarted me rewriting this. I know I've got other projects like In Sweat and Blood, Sweet Serendipity, and potentially Speak no Evil (once I get inspiration again for it since Bioshock Infinite wasn't exactly all it was chalked up to be. Beautiful, but the game play was really linear to me at least. Not as expansive as the first two games).

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><p>I tugged my hole-filled sweater closer to my body, the chill of the fabricated night bleeding in through the holes. Inside establishments, I could hear the cheers and toasts over drinks and celebrating the New Years. Even the Limbo Room was hopping as Grace Holloway sang her famous tunes that gave hope to the poor bastards of the Drop. The booze there was brewed in a bathtub and I'm fairly certain it was mixed with formaldehyde for potency, but as long as it tasted like alcohol the patrons didn't seem to care.<p>

The televisions mounted to the walls displayed the same thing they do on every New Years Eve: Andrew Ryan giving the same monologue about making Rapture the greatest city for the next year, followed by a toast and the countdown.

I dug into a trashcan, with the vague hopes of maybe finding a half-eaten bag of chips, a burger even. I wasn't picky since beggars can't be choosers especially in this place that had been my… "home" for lack of a better term. The butterfly knife in my pocket kept most attackers at bay. A loud crash only earned a glance as a whore was backhanded by a john for something or another. The man would be dead in the morning since she was one of Fontaine's hookers and no one damaged _his_ property.

Such is life in the belly of the beast: Rapture.

On most days, I assumed my position leaning against the first 'N' of the King Pawn sign, watching as the beggar and downtrodden moved about like they had no care in the world other than the fact that they are starving to death ever so slowly or scratching at their arms until track marks appeared. It was pathetic really, they moved around like they owned the world and whenever someone like that Sinclair fellow would come around, they hissed at him like he was the vermin. Made me feel bad for the man, 'course I trusted him just about as far as I could throw him. He had a hotel of sorts down here called the Sinclair Deluxe that held anyone who could pay the rent. Rent was cheap, but it wasn't like people here had two nickels to rub together.

The poor and the down-on-their-luckers would arrive at the doors, early in the morning. No matter the reason or the rhyme that they'd say to the businessman in a vague explanation, Sinclair would just smile and hand them a key to an apartment, take their down payment, tell them their rent and send them on their merry way. A smart man to collect their rent weekly and an even smarter man to own the bar – Sinclair Spirits – and cash in the rest of the money the poor soul would spend as the sad sap drowned their sadness in wine and beer.

If they weren't spending their money in the bars, they were buying a genetic goop called Plasmids to splice themselves up to look fit, beautiful, shoot electricity, burp fire, spit ice – you name it they probably had it. I even heard they were trying out a teleportation plasmid, but most test subjects would accidentally teleport themselves outside of the glass walls and drown in seconds. The market was still relatively new but booming – a new plasmid almost every week. The downside to something that made you equivalent to a superhero was that it was extremely addictive and when people didn't get their ADAM, they fell into madness and with the abilities they had gained traveled around Rapture looking for their next fix, killing anyone who got in their way. Killing people like me.

Other than that, they would wander their way to Siren Alley, to a whorehouse called the Pink Pearl.

Not that the whores in the Pearl were any different from the splicers except Daniel would throw a fit if they started to splice up. Most got kicked out on their ass and ended up down in the Fisheries working under Frank Fontaine.

I guess you could call Siren Alley the red light district of California in the USA. Like most of the Betties down here, Siren Alley was born originally with a more respectable name, but only God remembers what it was. The Pink Pearl was just a bunch of rooms with a girl assigned to each one by the owner Daniel Wales who was a proper drunk and definitely cheaper than Eve's Garden in Poseidon Plaza. There were even a few rooms that for 5 Rapture dollars you could get a show from a few of the girls.

In Eve's Garden, the girls were well cared for and beautiful, classy even; while Pauper's Drop was not to far a cry from any regular street prostitute with a pimp that beat them senseless. Only difference, the Pearl was a place where all the prostitutes would congregate and easier to find. People would come to the Pearl to scratch that itch they're ashamed of, even in a town with barely any laws.

Unfortunately, one of those whores was my mother, but only God himself could say if she was still alive or not. Perhaps I had lived a happier life before we came to Rapture, but I couldn't remember much of it. All I remember from the start is pain and the bruises coating my arms from my mother, blaming me for my father leaving.

Coming to Rapture didn't help the beatings, but it ceased them for a few months as we settled in. We were crammed in a bathysphere with 4 other people, artists, scientists, and people looking to be captains of industry. Out of them, I think I saw 3 of them down in the Drop looking like they were about to croak from starvation.

For only a few short months did I live in a small apartment with my mother until one day she just never came back and the name Dusky Donovan ended up whispered in the Pink Pearl, just another whore in the employ of Daniel Wales. No one even remembered little Jamie Donovan or was sure if Jamie ever existed, which I did.

Now, I couldn't pick her out of a crowd if my life depended on it. My mother had abandoned me and left me to wander around Rapture, looking for 'mommy' until I became another ghost. One of the lost people of Rapture, the ones that society forgot about in its rise to glory. I was quick to discover that I should trust no one or I'd be another body floating in the wharfs. Another victim to the splicers that had started to make their appearance at this time.

It's where my life truly began and probably will end. Not a very good life mind you, but a life nonetheless. My 19-year-old life consisted of keeping out of reach of anyone who decided I would be a good grab for a quick ravage in a darkened back room or disappear only to end up another body floating outside the glass structure of Rapture for passersby to see. I stayed on top of the King Pawn sign to watch the chaos pass below me; only a few months ago I watched as Sofia Lamb and Andrew Ryan duked it out verbally in front of the people of Pauper's Drop about religious freedom and reality - Utilitarian beliefs vs the Free Market beliefs.

Wandering to another trashcan, I could hear the music and Grace's beautiful voice flowing out of the Limbo Room. It was a small but well kept jazz bar which was surprising with the chaos of this place. Really it was the only place anyone could afford to go to down here. Grace would sneak me in through the back and give me shelter in her dressing room while she returned home for the morning. She was a kind woman with a heart of gold, a good soul and a beautiful voice that echoed through the PA system with her songs – a rarity down here. She even found the love of a man down here; a man who didn't join the race to see who could become less of a man and more of a monster. In fact, he had never touched the stuff so much that it would affect him. The occasional brain boost or sports boost, but not enough to cause him to turn into of those Splicers. James was okay in my book.

My stomach grumbled achingly reminding me of my hunger that still plagued my body. It would be for a while until I could get a morsel of food to calm it down long enough to maybe find my next meal. Trashcan potato chips would not cut it.

Stuffing my hands in the pockets of my baggy trousers (several sizes too big), I wandered away from the trashcan to find a place to sleep since it wouldn't be until the early morning when the Limbo would close. The perks of being alone meant having a lot of time to myself – especially to learn the ventilation shafts and know where all the dead ends and cubbies are to keep away from any roaming vent dwellers.

The King Pawn sign was my usual place to sit and also had a readily accessible vent to crawl through for quick escapes. I crawled through until I ended up at a dead end with a vent that overlooked the stairs of the Artemis Suites. Already I could hear one of the tenants arguing very loudly about something or another followed by something breaking. A European couple – Swedish if I guess right – wandered up the staircase to the third floor, talking about inviting someone in another apartment over for tea or some such.

My switchblade tight in my grip, I fell into a light sleep in the cramped space.

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><p>"Don't 'Grace' me, Jamie," Grace scolded, her finger pointed right at my nose. I held my hands up in a slight defense. "Darling girl, you're too thin." She reached her hand up and traced my jutting-out collarbone. I couldn't help but notice how her dark skin contrasted against my pale skin. I remember as a child I used to be tan, but that disappeared when my mother and I came to Rapture. "So I insist ya take a few dollars and go get somethin' ta eat."<p>

"Grace, I can't take any of your money. What about rent?"

I jumped when a slim arm wrapped around my shoulders. James' wide grin settled me down just as quickly as the fright came. "Jamie, Grace and I are worried about you. You insist in not moving in with us, so this is the least we can do. Besides, we have a little extra from the tips Gracie made last night from her _beauuutiful_ singing voice!" He released his grip from around my shoulders and swept Grace up in his arms, making her giggle and swat at him to 'cut it out!'. "Settle our fears and do it for us?"

I smiled. "You say this every time you guys do something for me. 'Jamie, take this and go buy a sweater. You'll freeze. Settle our fears and do it for us? Jamie, at least sleep on the floor of my dressing room. You might attacked at night. Settle our fears and do it for us?' I swear, you're like mother hens. I'm 19. A few more years I'll be considered an old maid."

Grace chuckled and placed her hands on my shoulders. "You're like a daughter to us. Of course we're gonna worry about you, child." She dug in her pocket and pulled out the aforementioned money, waving it in front of my face.

I didn't argue further and reluctantly took the small wad of cash, tips from last night's festivities. I didn't exactly know where to spend it other than the Fighting McDonagh's since it was the only place that served semi-decent food.

The bar was packed with workers getting off shift. Loud and rowdy as they watched Ryan's Raiders play, I weaved through the crowd and placed my order to the bartender behind the counter - Thomas if I remembered correctly. I sat down at a booth in the far back and rested my chin on my intertwined fingers. Mariska Lutz popped out a few minutes later with a plate in hand. Weaving through the crowd like they weren't there (plenty of practice), she placed the plate in front of me and smiled. "Enjoy!" She exclaimed over the loud noise and disappeared into the crowd again.

Digging in, I failed to notice someone sit down in the booth across from me. Glancing up, it took everything I had not to choke on the food: Augustus Sinclair.

Augustus Sinclair wasn't a conman, per ce, but a cunning businessman with an abnormally high intellect to know that you have to pick a brand name from the writing on the walls. He owned several of the businesses here and knew exactly how to squeeze someone with a fancy hat until he fell in the mud for every dollar he owned. He was a bit on the heavy side with a muffin top that was sort of stuffed into his black dress pants added with his white shirt, tucked in, clean and proper. He didn't wear a belt, but opted for overall straps, adding to his official working man look. He had his glasses hung around his neck and a necktie, red and yellow striped. His hair was charcoal black, smoothed back to make him appear suave and sophisticated and his bright emerald eyes entranced the soul and warped the mind into handing over your wallet.

Andrew Ryan always rambled on about the 'Great Chain', where there was no God in the sky, only a chain that we each had a hand on. Any man who said differently either has his hand in your pocket or a gun to your temple. Sinclair had people shelling out the pull that Great Chain for him.

I swallowed and asked, "What?"

Sinclair's lips curved into the famous grin that could charm a shark and held out his hand for a handshake, "The name's-"

"I know who you are. Let me rephrase my question: What do you want?"

Sinclair's hand retreated to adjust his tie - skillfully and rehearsed, "I'll be frank with you, since I can see that you're someone who doesn't beat 'round the bush: I've been watchin' you. I've seen you around the Drop, sittin' up on that thrift shop's sign. Also have seen you crawl out of the vents, it's safe to assume you know the ventilation system." He leaned back on the cushioned seats.

"Sure."

The vents were my home for the most part. It was how I got around and avoided the splicers. Most that would try and follow me would get lost in them very easily and end up another body stuck in the shaft, broken by a deadfall, lacerated by fan blades or sucked into the vats in the Fisheries. I had no idea where this man was going, but all I could hear was that money was involved and so was the risk of being killed.

"I'm willin' to pay good money for any information you can get. Anything downright juicy."

"You don't even know me."

"But I would like to. What's your name?" I chose the silent treatment. "Alright don't tell me. But then I'll have to make up a name for you. Calling you 'Girl' or 'ma'am' just doesn't suit my fancy. Too informal." I rolled my eyes and continued to eat my meal. I had to hear this. "All right, your name will be Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye?"

"Yes, ma'am. You stand on the highest perch you can get to an' watch the people around here like a hawk. I know opportunity when I see it. I like to look a person in the eye when I tell them: You an' me kid, we're going places."

"What is that? You're catch phrase?" I questioned, wiping my mouth of ketchup with a napkin. I pushed the empty plate aside and leaned back in my seat.

He chuckled and answered, "Might as well be, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye? I listened to the word bounce around inside my skull. It wasn't that bad; I actually liked it, not that I would admit it to the man. But I was not about to give this guy the time of day. As I had said, I've dealt with his kind before: business men looking for information at first until they realize your worth and try to sell you to their allies as a bargaining chip. I would disappear before the debate could even finish and they'd never find me.

"Good day, Mr. Sinclair," I said standing up to leave.

Sinclair only sat there with a smug smile on his face. He made no motion to grab for me, nor did he look like he was going to say anything to stop me. The man was way too smart for his own good. I knew he would be back and sick enough I was curious as to what he would say next time.

Stuffing my hands in my pocket, the switchblade brushing against my knuckles. "Well, this is annoying..." I muttered to myself.

I pushed open the door leading into Limbo Room silently weaving through the numerous tables and chairs that had yet to be cleaned off by the night cleaners. I had wasted enough of my time in the company of Sinclair, now I needed my sleep. I jumped up on the stage and went into the back room where Grace's dressing room was.

I was surprised to find a pillow and a blanket inside, folded neatly on the bench in front of Grace's vanity. I caught sight of my reflection which was a laugh if I could say so. My reflection stared back at me, tired, sad and almost had dead look to it. It was angular, had its exotic features, but other than that I was nothing spectacular to look at. I touched my greasy brown hair that was pulled into a low ponytail and opted to ask Grace for a bath. The woman was so kind that she was only person I could feel comfortable asking without having a shiv in my belly before I could get the question out. I licked my thumb and rubbed off a spot of dirt from crawling in the vents, knowing that it did little for the rest of my face.

I shook my head and threw the pillow on the floor and laid down, wrapping the blanket around me, cocooning myself in the fabric.

_You and me, kid, we're going places..._

That Sinclair was already becoming a thorn in my side – invading my head like this.


	2. Bird of a Feather

Hands in my pockets, I wandered the walkways of Siren Alley, fighting off the headache forming from the heavy smell of cheap perfume emanating from the Pink Pearl. People ignored me mostly, maybe giving me the occasional non-committal glance. Maybe they had believed I was just another hooker's brat, which wouldn't have been far from the truth. I found a decent ledge up high and relatively out of reach. I grabbed a notch in the wall to haul myself up.

The ledge overlapped an illegal moonshine still which I could smell clear as day, but I'd rather smell bathtub moonshine than the flowery perfume from the Betties at the Pearl. Less of a headache.

I watched large crates get wheeled under me and through the doors of the Mermaid Lounge where the owner stood with a grin on his face and his wallet in his hand, ready to pay for whatever was in the crates.

Judging from the size, I would have guessed that they were those new automated turrets that people were starting to buy for a security system. It would have made sense for Romans – the owner – to purchase them since the top floor of the Mermaid Lounge had several slot machines, a few tables for playing cards and a bar. If things got rowdy, the turrets would clear the problem up right quick.

My head shot to the Pearl where I _swore_ I saw the visage of my mother, but whoever they were disappeared into the Pearl and out of sight. I sighed and continued to watch Romans converse with the delivery crew about payment for the turrets. Why I was still getting worked up over my mother was beyond me. She abandoned me, left me to starve, so why should I care whether I saw her or not?

I especially didn't have any good memories about her. Barely any memories of my father, but I vaguely remember a spicy cologne and laughter that mimicked a grandfather clock. That was about it. Father left for WWII and I had never seen him again. Died during the Blitz, I overheard grandmother and grandfather say to my mother who feigned sadness, but once my grandparents' backs were turned she definitely didn't give two shits if the man was dead.

I hated her, even as a child. I avoided her throughout the day, spending time with my grandmother and grandfather instead of that miserable hag.

Drawing my knees up, I hugged them to my chest. Thinking of my mother only made me realize I was alone. Grace and James were the only kindness left in my life. I gripped the cloth of my trousers tight – I would defend them with my life.

"So have you thought my offer over, Hawkeye?"

I almost groaned at the familiar southern drawl.

I flicked my gaze over to Sinclair who stood below me with one of his cigarettes already balanced between his fingers and leaned on the railing overlooking the Mermaid Lounge. An expensive brand from what I could tell; Oxford Clubs. None of those seashell and fish eggs cigars and cigarettes they started selling cheap over at Robertson's Tobaccoria. The smoke smelled almost sweet though, hardly choking that I've come to expect. Of course, he wasn't blowing it harshly in my face like some of the Betties at the Pink Pearl would do if they ever saw me around.

I hadn't seen him in nearly 3 days. Of course during that time I had made myself scarce from the sight of Rapture's citizens, Sinclair included.

"No."

"No, huh? Why is that?"

I shot him a cold look. Did I really have to explain myself to him? To Augustus Sinclair? I chose to say nothing. "An' I get the silent treatment again. Are you sure you don't want to work for me? Even if it meant gettin' you off the street?"

"I'm sure."

"Not even if I gave you a handsome starting fee? An' a lodgin' out of Pauper's Drop." He had a stack of dollars in his hand, holding it up for me to take if I were to agree. Sure, I was down on my luck and with barely a penny to my name, but it's not like I couldn't find money anywhere else... Pickpocketing and whatnot... But that... would hold me over and maybe get me a decent meal at the Fishbowl Diner... Maybe pay for rent for Grace and James.

With Grace and James in mind, I answered, "I'll think about it." I slipped off the ledge and dropped down to the first floor, landing in a crouch. I glanced back up at Sinclair who hadn't budged, only watched my movement with a small smile. A smile that said he was going to win me over to his employ.

I didn't understand why he was so persistent to place me in the line of fire just for a bit of information. Sure the information I could get could make or break a company if it had gotten in the right or wrong hands. And Sinclair's hands were the ones that had a finger in everyone's pie. And yet, they were surprisingly clean hands despite where they had been. He was smart, that was for sure, even rivaling that of Ryan without the growing paranoia of everyone around him. And I was contemplating whether or not to make a deal with the Devil.

No, Sinclair wasn't the Devil. Maybe just a demon with a clean shave, but the Devil? No. If anyone was the Devil down here it was Andrew Ryan. From the way the poor are treated, the evidence was clear.

"Such a sweet li'l fish! Wander if she's got any ADAM..." My entire body stiffened at the voice.

There was the familiar clang of metal on metal in a rapid motion, signifying one of those splicers that crawled along the walls and ceilings. They were the newest type of splicer to make an appearance here in the underbelly of Rapture. The residents and the splicers themselves started to call these the 'Spider Splicers' or 'Ceiling Crawlers' due to their ability to crawl along the ceilings almost effortlessly, something no human could do.

I slowly and stiffly looked up at the creature grinning down at me.

He had a bald, misshapen head, a bulging eye, long bony limbs, claw-like fingers, and four toes on each foot. His teeth were small and pointy and spaced far apart in his gums. His clothes were tattered and worn-down, especially at the ends of the sleeves and shorts, likely due to the act of crawling across many surfaces. In each hand, he held a meat hook.

I still couldn't move, even when he let out a maniacal scream and dropped from the ceiling. He…_it_ circled me, much like a vulture, the hooks clanking against the cold floor as it crawled. "Sweet girly a 'fraidy cat? A little kitten?" The moment it weaved behind me, my fight or flight instinct kicked in and my legs finally kicked off into a sprint.

I grabbed a railing of a nearby staircase and swung myself up getting a mild head start from my pursuer. "Run, run, run, little girlie as fast as you can!" The thing taunted, crawling quickly along the ceiling after me. People moved out of the way of me or else I would have just ran them over despite how much it would slow me down before they dove out of the way of the splicer so it wouldn't cut them down.

I sprinted over the first bridge I came across only to realize it came to a dead end. I turned toward the door that lead into an apartment and slammed into it, banging my fists against the metal to try and get it open, but no avail. Whoever lived here locked the door. "Fuck..." I cursed backing up until my lower back hit the railing. I jumped when the splicer thumped on the wood floor of the balcony, his hooks clinking away, warning me of the impending attack.

I ducked out of the way of a wild swing, the meat hook brushing past my ponytail and used that moment of pause to grab the railing and leap over to the other side so I was hanging over the balcony. With a push of my legs, I leapt over to the bridge and had crossed to get where I was. Jumping up and over the railing to land safely on the bridge again, I took off running again, the splicer hot on my heels. I shoved a man out of the way, but into the wall of the building thankfully. Down another set of stairs I went, sprinting toward the Metro Station in hopes that someone would help me since no one here would.

I let out a scream when the hook sliced across my back. I tripped over my own feet and slammed hard against the ground, my head bouncing off the concrete. "Sweet, tasty ADAM..." The splicer muttered. He hovered over me, his hook raised to deliver the killing blow.

Without thinking, I reached up and grabbed the wrist about to come down to kill me and twisted. I heard a sickening snap of the joint and the crawler scrambled back, screaming about his now broken wrist. I scrambled to my feet once again, almost tripping a second time. "GET BACK HERE!" The splicer screamed giving chase as best as he could with a broken wrist.

The Metro station was now out of the question since this thing was hell bent on killing me now. Had to get up high and get into an air vent or else I wouldn't live to see another day. My hand pressed as best as it could to the slice across my back and spine, but there was little one hand could do.

Up another set of stairs I went until I had finally reached the 3rd floor. There! A vent! Finally! With a push of my legs, my hands caught the edge of the vent. It took only a moment to haul myself up and begin crawling through the familiar paths of the air vents that traveled all throughout Rapture. It was a loud bang that alerted me to the crawler still giving chase. His hooks scraped at the metal as he crawled after me, faster than I could by far.

A weapon... I needed a weapon and fast! But something to be used as a weapon in an air vent? Yeah, that's something that pops up every day. I glanced over my shoulder at the creature, hissing and snarling in his fury and lust to kill me. It was no longer about ADAM, it was about getting his pride smashed by a girl who was supposed to be an easy kill and yet she had led him on a merry chase through Little Eden Plaza.

My hand suddenly brushed something that wasn't normal in the vents. A metal pipe. My finders wrapped around the pipe and swung for the splicer who was now nearly on top of me. The pipe smashed in his skull and he let out a wail of agony, the blood flowing from the wound. Another swing to the other side and the splicer fell limp to the floor of the vent.

I let out a shaky breath and dropped the bloodstained pipe. Now panting, I looked around for any more sign that some other splicer heard this one and would come to investigate, but I heard nothing out of the ordinary. I continued crawling towards Pauper's Drop with a trail of blood coming from my back and my breath labored to try and control the fresh pain. Curse Rapture and the splicers, curse whoever had the gall to think "Let's give people superpowers, but leave horrible side effects so anyone with these superpowers goes batshit insane!"

I dropped from the vent I used to leave Pauper's Drop, landing in the middle of the hallway of the Hamilton. I winced as my back gave a painful throb telling me to get this patched up and patched up quick. I stumbled my way to the stairs, ignoring the looks of the few people I passed, no doubt receiving the stares from the blood dripping down my back. There was only one place I could go: Suchong's Free Clinic. Suchong normally gave me the creeps without even being in his presence.

Staggering into the clinic startled several patients and intern nurses. Suchong looked up from his clipboard and said, "Let's not have the girl bleed out."

A nurse produced a wheelchair and coaxed me into it.

I laid on my stomach on the examination table, feeling more exposed than I particularly liked to be in the presence of Dr. Yi Suchong. "Name?" He asked, writing down information on his clipboard.

"None of your concern."

"No name, no treatment." His gaze was sharp and clearly annoyed with her.

I barely growled out, "Jamie Donovan."

"Age."

I sighed and reluctantly answered, "19."

"Blood type?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"In case of the need for a blood transfusion," He replied sharply.

"I don't know. Any other questions?"

He ignored me and hummed in approval. He pulled a sterile needle out of its packaging and a tube to collect a sample of blood for testing. I barely winced when the needle pierced my skin – I gave credit to a high pain tolerance. With the blood sample collected, he took the notes off the clipboard and sealed both items in a beige envelope. He sent the information through the pneumo somewhere and returned to me to stitch up my back. It was quiet the whole time, no more questions which I was thankful for, but it felt like he was looking at me like some prize; a rare specimen to be poked and prodded like a child poking a frog in science class. It unnerved me.

I was out before anyone could bid me goodbye pressing a cotton swab to the pinprick mark in the crook of my arm.

My back stung painfully as I walked and I knew there'd be no climbing around for me for the few days or so, meaning I needed safety and there was no way I'd put that pressure on Grace and James. Besides, I wasn't going to go near Grace with this injury: She'd never let me leave ever again if she knew I was in some sort of danger.

Unfortunately the only person offering safety was the man I'd rather not deal with. I winced as my back gave another painful throb. Suchong didn't even give me painkillers. Of course I didn't stick around for him to prescribe me any so I more or less screwed myself out of that.

I reached around and lightly prodded the stitches, noting the tear in my sweater and shirt that revealed a good majority of my back. I didn't think I could get enough string to sew them shut, nor would I ask Grace for the same reason as the injury on my back. She'd see it and freak.

I had little choice but to straighten my back and make my way to the Sinclair Deluxe to see Augustus Sinclair. The bastard had won now that I was backed into a corner.

Sinclair's smile as I approached the desk was one that sent chills up my spine and not the good kind either. It was like he knew that I'd come to his desk eventually with the right push. Arrogant bastard.

He folded his hands neatly together and placed his elbows on the desk he was sitting at. "So, finally acceptin' my offer?" He questioned the smile never disappearing.

"I'll listen, but that doesn't mean I'm accepting. There are a few things I need to hear first."

"Of course." He made a gesture towards the open glass doors that lead to the hotel.

I walked through and waited for him to open the doors to the office. He held the door open like a gentleman and directed me to the back room where two chairs were already waiting. The cheeky bastard had already planned this out, like he knew that I'd come to see him in due time. The room was mostly used for storage from what I could see, but it was the most privacy we were going to get in a place like this.

"You've got blood on your shirt an' a hole," He pointed out, his eyes never leaving the injury.

"Had a run-in with a splicer. What of it?"

He clapped his hands and the hotel's front desk attendant quickly made her appearance. He handed her a few dollars and said, "Go purchase a new shirt and jacket for the young lady, if you would be so kind. And you can keep the change, darlin'." She nodded and rushed to retrieve Sinclair's request. Once she was out of view, Sinclair took his seat and crossed his legs. "Now, let's talk business. What do I need to do to get your patronage, miss?"

I mulled it over for a moment before I answered plainly, "Safety."

"Safety?"

"Yes. I don't want to have to go to sleep at night and worry I might not wake up in the morning or wake up someplace I don't recognize. Someplace I can call home. I want an apartment in the Artemis Suites." It was a simple request. Artemis Suites wasn't the most luxurious place in Rapture, mostly for the working class citizens of Rapture, but it wasn't falling apart at the seams. Sure, it had its fair share of trouble, but locked doors and security cameras and turrets located at key points throughout the building made it an ideal place to set up shop. And it felt like the best place to call home for someone like me.

Sinclair blinked in shock for just a second. Then it cleared up back to the clean-cut businessman with questionable business ethics. "Why not somethin' in Olympus Heights?" He suggested. "Say the Mercury Suites?"

I knew his ploy - keep me close and on a leash. "Getting an apartment in Olympus Heights would just get me lynched if I ever showed my face in Pauper's Drop after I even signed the lease. And to be honest, it keeps what I'd lose if you don't like what I get to a minimum. I'm not unintelligent, Mr. Sinclair."

_That_ made him give a look that clearly said he was impressed. Sinclair nodded, "A fair point. An' in return, I tell you who I need information on an' you'd be able to retrieve it? Everythin' downright scandalous with proof?"

I nodded. "If it's any consolation, you're the only person who really noticed me."

"Me? I guess I can take that as it is. Would I get to learn your name today?"

"No." I thought for a moment before looking Sinclair in the eye. "But there is one more thing..."

"And what would that be?"

"I will in no way collect information that could harm Grace Holloway or her husband James." Sinclair stood up. He held out his hand and I clasped my own his, giving it a firm shake. Deal concluded. Now just the paperwork.

We were interrupted by the woman who worked the front desk reappearing with a bag in her hand. Sinclair thanked her and took the bag from her. With a dismissing hand, she returned to the front desk to continue listening to the Rapture Radio that croaked from the rusty radio she owned. Sinclair handed me the bag and waited until I pulled out the articles of clothing. I was thankful that it was just a simple navy blue shirt that could be tied in the back to allow for a more formed figure and a grey sweatshirt that could zip up in the front. "Thank you," I said replacing the shirt in the bag and setting it down on the floor by my feet.

Before long, I was in the new shirt, my old one disposed of and I was back in Pauper's Drop. A 'Trial-Run' as Sinclair had called it to see how well I could collect the information he was looking for before moving me up to bigger marks. Although, when he meant 'trial-run' I didn't think he would send me up against the Head of Security of Andrew Ryan's Private Forces. Sullivan was well known in the Drop. Who am I kidding? He's well known throughout Rapture.

He was a person with a big red and white bulls-eye painted on his back to the people of Pauper's Drop. If the man didn't have a big fucking army behind him, I'm pretty sure the people down here would have stuck a knife in his belly a long time ago. Even if someone had the guts to stab him the back and make off like a bandit, his army would march through the Drop – killing anyone in sight just to be sure they got the killer.

The man was unpleasant, almost viper-like with a receding hairline and a pencil thin mustache to add to his look. He had thick wrinkles around his eyes, indicating his age, but also his wisdom and cunning. Now where his wisdom was being used was another question altogether. Personally, I couldn't stand the man, but I could respect him for his line of work and dealing with Ryan's ever growing paranoia.

Currently, Sullivan was working on cracking down a thief who had stolen something or another from some artist type in Fort Frolic and made his escape to Pauper's Drop. Not a smart move, if I'd say so myself since no one down here would buy anything from the rich people that towered above them. If you wanted to sell anything stolen you'd have to go through the back alleys of Siren Alley and hope you find a decent broker that won't just stab you and take it for himself. That'd just get them locked up. So it was no surprise that the thief was easily cornered in Pauper's Drop.

I walked calmly, keeping a safe and inconspicuous distance from Sullivan – within earshot, but out of sight. He was walking with a few of his 'boys' making it seem that they were just going to get a bite from the Fishbowl Diner. From a few more hours of following him, I finally collected enough to make Sinclair smile since it sure made me smile with knowing. Sullivan wasn't just a cop, he was a cop that played dirty, threatening the lives of the very people I grew up around to find out what he wanted; flashing his badge wherever he went like a kid with a loaded gun. He also dropped Andrew Ryan's name a lot more than one really should, but if Fontaine was starting to be considered the Boogeyman and a name to be feared, then Andrew Ryan was the bloody Devil himself.

It was almost hilarious at how often Sullivan also questioned Andrew Ryan's orders. The people here had their own minds and Andrew's idea of a free market was great in theory, but with a man who built a city under the sea (a feat seen as impossible) with his name plastered on almost everything, it was without a doubt that a god-complex would form which from Sullivan's angry mutterings, it was already starting to rear its ugly head like a bull.

Sinclair almost grinned in delight when I dropped from the vent into his office space of his apartment in Olympus Heights. After the initial heart-attack from hearing someone crawl through the vents since I made no attempt to be quiet. The mood in his apartment though was surprisingly welcoming, but a little overwhelming with the amount of expensive goods he had brought with from the surface, most of them items like an oak finish record player. Nothing that gave a clear notion of what the surface was like since Ryan was a daft paranoid bastard with power. A dangerous chemistry mix that would either balance itself out or nuke the place.

I would make sure that by the time Sinclair and I were done, he would be the most well-informed man in Rapture and instead of have just a finger in everyone's pie, Sinclair would be eating a slice of each with a feline grin while his competition wallowed in starvation.

"Good job, Miss Hawkeye. To congratulate you, I went ahead and made all the arrangements for you bonus." He held up a set of keys with a number tag attached to them: 26.

"What's this now?" I asked taking the keys from him.

Sinclair only smiled and answered, "Keeping up my end of the bargain. I even went so far as to _not_ make a copy for myself." I almost cracked a smile. Almost.

Within the few weeks that followed, I settled in nicely into my new apartment and my new line of work. Sinclair even brought it upon himself to purchase some affordable furniture for me, nothing too fancy, just enough for me to have a few luxuries.

A four post bed was placed in the bedroom along with a vanity similar to the one Grace possessed and a few things that a woman would have in her vanity. The blankets placed on my bed were different shades of purple along with the pillow covers. There was a dresser in front of the wall across from the door that, much to my surprise, were full of clothes both nice looking and working clothes. The closet held a few dresses which made me wonder why in Sinclair's right mind compelled him to get these since I'd never wear them.

My kitchen had a few things such as a stove, a fridge and a new microwave. And for a few minutes I couldn't figure out how the coffee maker worked. It wasn't like I drank coffee to begin with, but I'm sure I'd be working long nights and coffee was about to become my best friend. There were even a few Meal-Time frozen dinners already in the freezer part of my fridge. Sinclair thought ahead. The floor was tiled black and white; the cupboards were white as were most of the appliances. A small table sat in the corner, maybe big enough to fit three people if they squeezed. It had a wooden surface, but I wasn't surprised to see that the legs were made from coral.

My sitting room held two couches with a small end table at each end along with a low table in the middle of both in front of the fireplace. A TV rested on the other wall, opposite of the fireplace. Not too far to the right of the TV sat a desk with a few sheets of stationary and a tin of pens already sat waiting. A small, but comfortable chair slid under the desk with relative ease.

I almost fainted when I stepped into the shower for the first time, the hot warm pouring over my body washing off all the stress and grime from Pauper's Drop. It was very rare that I actually got a decent shower aside from using a sink in a public bathroom and stolen soap. When I felt the need, I'd ask Grace to use her shower, but that wasn't often; I didn't want to feel like I was taking advantage of her hospitality for a duct-rat like me. So having my own shower now was absolutely heaven.

All in all, a perfect place the likes of me. I was even thankful to the man, who had kept his end of the bargain while I kept up mine. Sinclair just smiled and said, "I take care of my 'assets'." It was a subtle agreement between us that I was not to be referred as his 'employee', but an asset. An asset still had the freedom to go about as they please, while an employee is chained to their employer. Sinclair was again amused by my caution to our business deal. I didn't live 8 years in the Drop just to give up everything I've ever learned because a man flashes a smile and a wad of cash.

If my no-good mother of mine could see me now, maybe she wouldn't have abandoned me.

And the year came to an end. Hello, 1954.


	3. Magpies

"I'm _not_ going to the doctor!" I exclaimed, sitting in one of Sinclair's armchairs with a huff.

Sinclair shot me an annoyed look. Good be annoyed! "Hawkeye, you've got to get those stitches out an' the wound checked up on." He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray and took another drag to calm his nerves that I was getting on.

I looked at anything but his eyes. "I already took the stitches out a week ago. They itched."

"You did what?!" He demanded. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose to quell the headache I was causing him. I almost smirked at his distraught. "Look, you got to get that wound checked out. You were clawed in the back by a rusted hook. You could have tetanus or somethin'!"

"It's fine!"

Sinclair stood up and rounded the desk, before kneeling next to my seat. "What if I offer to cover the bill? Just humor me."

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly nodded. "Fine, I'll go to the blasted doctor. Happy?"

Sinclair smiled and stood. "Very."

* * *

><p>Sitting in Dr. Steinman's exam room was not what I had in mind when seeing the doctor. Dr. Steinman was a cosmetic surgeon and dentist. What business did he have seeing to me? Sinclair probably… "It appears that your injury has fully healed," Dr. Steinman muttered absentmindedly, his fingers lightly prodding the thin scar across my back. I glanced back when I heard him take off his latex gloves, disposing them in a nearby waste bin. "Your blood work came back with no signs of tetanus. With a little bit of ADAM, I can be sure the scar is no longer visible," He offered which I declined quickly.<p>

I sat up and a nurse came over and handed over my shirt with a small smile. I still didn't understand why Sinclair made me come here since the man was no doctor to diagnose stitches in someone's back, but he was adamant that I had the wound checked out in case of any 'serious concerns'. I sure as hell didn't tell him I went and saw Suchong for it. Like this was my first time getting stitches, but if it shut the man up, I obliged as long as he was picking up the bill and paid for discretion and for this not to go on file.

As I slipped it on, I heard Dr. Steinman ask, "Has the bridge of your nose always been that... wide?" The question threw me off for a moment. My nose? My nose was fine as far as I could tell. It was normal in fact, so I had no idea what he was talking about. It didn't take a genius to quickly find out what he was implying. I've seen women flock to him like he was their mother goose, wanting him to cut their faces with that scalpel of his and make them pretty. And it's escalated since the discovery of ADAM that left nothing out of range of the cosmetic surgeon. I was _not_ going to succumb like the rest of the splicers here.

"Y-Yeah?" I was cautious, even more-so than I was when Sinclair gave me the business deal not 3 weeks ago. I never trusted doctors, much less doctors that held a scalpel more intimately than a lover like Dr. Steinman did. Even now he had a scalpel in his hand, his finger tracing the smooth metal of the blade which made me itch in a slight panic of what he was going to do with that blade.

Dr. Steinman shook his head like he had just seen the worst painting someone had ever done. "With my help, your nose could be perfect. With ADAM, what excuse do we not have to look our best, to look _beautiful_?" He whipped out his business card and held it out to me. He even had the phrase quoted on the card.

I took it and stuffed it in the back pocket of my trousers. "I'll consider it," I lied, just wanting to be out of that room.

Dr. Steinman smiled flashing his perfect teeth and gestured towards the door. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll have a bill written up for you." I nodded once and anxiously waited for him to fill out the script. He finally handed me the paper and I dashed out without making it look like I was running. The nurse gave me another smile and bid me a good rest of my day.

Rest of my day? I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight. I'll have to make sure to voice to Sinclair that visits to Dr. Steinman were not going to happen again for a very long time.

The attendant at the front desk gave me a look as I rushed by. I could tell she was thinking I was nothing but a dirty duct-rat from the way my clothes looked, far from a proper lady who was depending off another man's money to get by. The day I became something of a proper lady was the day that Ryan handed the keys to Rapture over to Fontaine with a grin.

I gave a half-assed wave and left the section of the clinic. The foyer of the downstairs area was already starting to fill up with nurses and people wanting to see Dr. Steinman for whatever face-life they needed which meant it was time for me to get out of there before someone accused me of stealing something. A few people I recognized from the Pearl which didn't surprise me none. The only thing that surprised me was the fact that they could afford the surgery.

I pulled the business card Steinman gave me out of my pocket and gazed it over. The card looked aesthetically pleasing, but Steinman's name in cursive font and his telephone extension made me want to choke. The phrase "With ADAM what excuse do we have not to be beautiful!" caused the card to be crumpled up and tossed into a nearby garbage bin.

"Hawkeye!" I jumped when I heard the nickname only Sinclair called me. I turned around and spotted the mentioned man walking confidently up to me, placing his hand on my shoulder in a friendly gesture. "How did the appointment go?"

"He says it healed fully and should be fine." It was short and easy to remember so Sinclair wouldn't get the idea that I needed another check-up.

Sinclair beamed and exclaimed, "Well isn't that dandy! We're back in business."

Not that we ever fell out of business. I did my work despite the fact my back burned when the day was done with, but it mattered none to me. Sinclair would have his money's worth of information for upcoming business deals or whatever he does and I had my next paycheck by the end of the week. I would then get one of McDonagh's famous burgers at the end of each day. It still tasted like fish, but it was better than the other restaurants around Neptune's Bounty and Pauper's Drop. And I refused to eat anywhere that was high end, knowing full well that I would never blend in except with a ton of concealer to try and cover my scars.

At least until the scars from ADAM started getting harder and harder to cover up. Then I could blend right in.

McDonagh was nice enough, I suppose. Treat him with respect and he'd respect you back; Cause trouble and he'd throw you out on your ass. He didn't sneer at me like anyone else would, so that was a bonus in my book. And he made a mean burger.

"I also spoke with Elliot Nelson. Good call on him. My needles are being made as we speak for cheap!" Sinclair announced, rather pleased with the whole scheme.

I hummed to show a mild approval, mostly to appease him. I dug in my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with the bill written on it and handed it to Sinclair since he had said he was going to cover it; it was one of the ways he had even gotten me there.

After he paid the woman at the financial desk of the Medical Pavilion, we boarded a bathysphere chose Neptune's Bounty as the destination. The ride was silent, except for the occasional tapping when Sinclair's fingers would drum against his leg. "I have a new job for you," He said out of the blue. "And you must swear to not mention one word about this." I gave him my full undivided attention. "Ol' Andy Ryan has been breathin' down my neck to take care of Sofia Lamb an' wants evidence enough to arrest her. I need you to find someone to infiltrate her little religion an' get me the evidence Andy needs."

The job was a strange one all right. I knew my area of expertise was information but recruitment for a long term investigation to take down a psychologist? Dr. Sofia Lamb was a clinical psychiatrist hired by Andrew Ryan himself to quell the numbers in Pauper's Drop. Why would he want to take her down if he hired her? She had come down here and started to spread her altruistic ideals hoping to enlighten the citizens through "ethical psychiatry and to create a true utopia." Her words. She offered free therapy sessions for the poor citizens in Pauper's Drop, lost poker games intentionally to spread wealth to those who needed it and created the artistic commune at her personal property in Dionysus Park. Lamb's altruism ideals did clash greatly with Andrew Ryan's, but to hire a mole to take her down? That just seemed diabolical. Maybe he was just a sore loser from the political debates he had lost to Sofia Lamb.

"So you want me to recruit someone? How?"

"Follow your instinct. You live by your instinct. You got me Nelson an' he worked out better than I expected. Who do you think would best fit in with Lamb's little group?"

"But I just looked for someone who would be desperate enough for money and a lot of spare time. _And_ not in Fontaine's pocket or Ryan's. That was easy. You're asking me to find someone to blend in with Lamb's enclave and be able to act in a way that won't be detected by a _psychologist_. On top of that, they need to have some semblance of skill in order to get in quick like an artist or something. Most artists are in Fort Frolic with a large stick up their arse and anyone else is too stupid to even lie to a child."

"I hear a lot of speculation, but if I know you, you'll get a result quickly." Smug git.

During my criteria listing, I had already gathered a small list of names in my mind. I nodded and said, "Yeah, I can get you someone. Give me a few hours."

"Take all the time you need. Lamb isn't goin' anywhere."

I left Sinclair's company once we docked at his private port in the Sinclair Tower. Passing through Skid Row I noticed a bookstore boarded up, when just the other day it was filled to the brim with people wanting to buy Sofia Lamb's book _Unity and Metamorphosis._ His wife and child were left alone with nothing.

A young boy bumped into me and I quickly grabbed his arm and jerked him back around to my front. I held out my hand and he dejectedly handed back the wallet he pickpocketed from me. "Don't look so beaten. If it was anyone else but me, you would have made off with their wallet."

"Anyone but you, miss?"

"I've been pickpocketing before you could walk, kid. How old are you?"

"8, ma'am."

I hummed in disapproval. I shooed him off and he ran off to either find another mark or to go home. I felt bad for him since it was like looking in a mirror: the failed attempts, getting caught by the completely wrong person and being beaten within an inch of my life all for a few dollars to maybe buy myself some food. I wondered vaguely if his parents were still around.

I shook my head to clear it of the soft spot growing for the kid.

The Fighting McDonagh's Tavern was loud as always from the fishermen coming in to enjoy a pint from the grumpy bartender Thomas. Thomas mostly was a spare when Bill himself couldn't man the bar. Thomas typically hated the noise, but would keep his mouth shut through it and serve drinks accordingly. Mariska came out from the kitchen and placed down my normal order of a simple burger. I almost smiled at the feeling of being able to do this whenever I wanted now that I had money.

I could hear the shouting from the boxing ring room meaning another two customers were beating the snot out of each other to relieve tension. Almost better than therapy with Sofia Lamb. Little Sophie – Bill's daughter – poked her head over the railing from the apartments that overlooked the bar and boxing ring before her mother pulled her back inside.

I wrote down possible names of people that would be the perfect personage for this job all the while thinking of what Sofia Lamb had done to get under Ryan's skin so much that he would resort to trickery to get her arrested. _Big Kate? Nah, she's too much of a wrench jockey to gain any semblance to Sofia. And she'd just punch me for requesting that she work with Sinclair._ I scratched the name off. _Davis Pittman... Security guard at Ryan Amusements... too old_. I scratched his name off. _Elliot Nelson's still working on the needles to even agree to this_. The dots finally connected in my brain as I wrote down the name 'Stanley Poole'.

Stanley Poole was a weasel of man if I could call him a man, who would sell his mother if it meant getting a good story and was always at Mr. Ryan's beck and call for what stories to write. Any story he got he could spin to make it seem interesting and keep the paper selling. He worked for the newspaper company the Rapture Tribune as a reporter and writer. I knew Sinclair was already paying Poole not to say anything about his business assets which was the perfect setup. On top of that, everyone knew that Poole was a pathological liar. Lamb would chalk any lie he'd tell to his nature and mildly disapprove of it, but would keep him on to 'help him' kick the habit.

I trashed the other pieces of paper and kept the one with the information that I knew of about Stanley Poole, including the detailed explanation about how he'd be perfect for the job.

Sinclair ordered and he shall receive.

I hit the vents, crawling my way towards Sinclair's main office at his apartment in Olympus Heights. I removed the grate overlooking his desk and dropped down on the coral desktop, startling the businessman so much he nearly flipped backwards in his chair. "Hawkeye! Door must be broken," He mused in a joking matter.

"Stanley Poole," I said, hopping off his desk.

"Stan Poole? What about him?"

I set the paper I wrote on over his manifest book. "Lamb's soon-to-be Judas."

Sinclair gave me a look before unfolding it and reading everything over, his chin gripped between his fingers. "I see your point. I'll get Stanley Poole in here."

Poole was inside Sinclair's office before I realized it. Sinclair had me stay around for the initial meeting just so that we may acquaint ourselves, knowing that Sinclair was going to use me as the go-between when Stanley would give his report, should he agree to this.

Poole fidgeted in his seat while Sinclair stared him down with a small smile on his face. "I have a job for you, Stanley," Sinclair started out. "Our dear friend Andy's making a move against Sofia Lamb an' we want you to build up a case against her."

Most of the discussion I ignored, since it was about what Stanley was going to get out of it.

I leaned against the glass window overlooking the sea and crossed my arms, watching the numerous schools of fish dart past like the city didn't even exist, like it was just another coral reef. I even noticed a few sharks swim by, completely ignoring the people that passed through the glass tunnels. Despite how much of a lunatic Ryan was, he sure knew how to build purgatory with an excellent view.

"And this will be your contact outside of Sinclair Solutions an' Ryan Industries," Sinclair said gesturing over to me. I gave Stanley a side glance then returned to my fish-gazing. "She goes by the name Hawkeye. She will be the one you report to when you infiltrate Lamb's little collective farm. And she will be the one checkin' up on you randomly. Hawkeye will always be watchin'." He made me seem like the damn Boogeyman. "And you know the drill: no one is to know about her."

Stanley nervously nodded, understanding my role in this whole situation. Sinclair spun around in his chair to look me in the eye. "I'm guessin' you already know who our boy here can cozy up to, to get in, right?"

"Simon Wales. He's got a church in Siren Alley. He's sort of Lamb's lieutenant. Snuggle up to him with a story of how the Tribune is stopping you writing about what's-what and you're a sure in."

Stanley stood up and asked, "And I'm supposed to trust the word of a duct-rat?"

Sinclair glared at the weasel man. "How do you know she's a duct-rat?"

Stanley sat back down at the dangerous tone of voice Sinclair used. "W-Well, she's thin like those Crawlers. She's built for that kind of work."

"Regardless of what she is, you're trustin' the word of one of your bosses. Now go. You got a job to do." Stanley scurried out of the room to do what he was told when he heard the anger in Sinclair's voice. It surprised me that Sinclair jumped to defend me so quickly, having never experienced that before. "Doesn't that bother you when people call you 'Duct-rat'?" He questioned giving me a look over to try and read my emotions.

I shrugged. "It doesn't bother me really. After awhile, you get used to it and soon it because white noise."

"How often do you hear it?"

I shrugged. "Usually people ignore me, but it does happen. Why do you think I travel by the air ducts almost all the time?" Sinclair nodded, understanding why I never came out of the air ducts much.

I jumped up on his desk and gave a leap up, grabbing the edge of the vent and hauling myself up and out of Sinclair's view. I replaced the grate and continued on back to my apartment complex for much needed sleep.


	4. Spreading Wings

Poole was late. I told him to meet me outside of the King Pawn at noon. The large clock overlooking the area just chimed saying it was 1 o'clock and I didn't like to be kept waiting. The only thing interesting was seeing Prentice Mill looking rather rundown as he walked into the King Pawn with a pocket watch and several other fine things. I had heard the Atlantic Express was falling on hard times, but I didn't realize just how hard it had fallen. With the Rapture Metro and personal bathyspheres now, the Express was made virtually obsolete except by the poor who didn't bring in much income. Now Mill was down here, such a shame.

An influx of people meant they were getting off work for a lunch break and that's when I finally spotted Poole.

Stanley definitely looked like he was ready to leap out of his skin; for someone like him to wander around Pauper's Drop was something of idiocy, but I got a bit of amusement out of it.

It had been exactly two month since the deal with Stanley Poole regarding Sofia Lamb. He had a little trouble at first – getting the nerve to meet with Simon Wales – but progress was coming as he reassured me. He disliked my presence greatly and once told Sinclair that I reminded him of a hawk circling a field mouse. Sinclair got a laugh out of it since it referenced to the nickname he bestowed upon me. Sinclair still asked if I was going to tell him my real name, but that question was always met with a snarky remark.

As much as he would try to hide it from me, I already knew how his progress with Lamb was going, and so far he had just gotten his foot in the door being invited to Dionysus Park for Lamb's 'artist retreat'. Even had the blue morpho butterfly brooch to prove it. Pauper's Drop was practically buzzing with talk of it since it was free to the public. I had to give it to Lamb: She knew how to lure people into a trap.

I decided that Stanley had fidgeted enough and dropped down from the King Pawn sign. "Poole," I greeted simply, making the skittish man spin around to face me. "You're late."

"Ah... Hawkeye... You, uh, know how to make an entrance," He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck like a nervous tick. He was blinking quickly, showing that his anxiety was hitting its peak. The beads of sweat on his forehead were the telltale sign. Rapture was typical cold and the only sweaty people around here were the ones just getting back from Hephaestus. Stanley was someone who probably hadn't had an honest hard day's work in his life; if there was an honest bone in his little body.

"You're. Late," I emphasized. His fidgeting got worse. 

"I-I know I was late… Um… the Express was…" He gulped. "A little full." I gave him a look that said I was not impressed. "I'm, uh, I'm in. Yep, yours truly is a member of the Rapture Family."

"I know. And I know about the art show. Tell me something I don't know. Or better yet, surprise me."

"O-Okay. Lamb is even sponsoring me to ink it while I'm here. Little does she know I'm going to be writing about her!" He gave a small laugh like he just told a joke. When he saw I wasn't laughing he coughed. "No sense of humor, okay."

"My sense of humor is fine."

"Okay, um..."

"You better get working fast. Ryan's breathing down Sinclair's neck. In response, Sinclair breathes down my neck and I breathe down yours. Understand? These tiny bits of information aren't going to cut it."

"Yeah! Yeah! I got it! I-I've been attending Wales' sermons. The stuff he talks about… They're all crazier than a box of frogs. Lamb sometimes attends and gives a few speeches to appease the crowd."

I nodded; glad that he was attending the sermons so I wouldn't have to. I was more than happy to let Sinclair talk my ear off instead of a pastor telling me I'm going to Hell and screaming my ear off. "Good. Keep it up. We need results."

Stanley made his retreat, nearly running into a welder from Hephaestus. The welder just missed when he swung his wrench at Stanley's head to knock him out. When he went to swing again, he stopped short, seeing the blue morpho butterfly brooch pinned to Stanley's overall strap. The man let out a curse and stormed off. Seems that badge has become a safety net for his scrawny hide. He only paused for a second to gaze at the women leaning out the windows of the Luxury Rooms, trying to tempt customers into coming in.

I knew the welder though… Charles Kempton. The tall, ginger man was way too smart to be just an average manager in Hephaestus. He was good friends with Bill McDonagh who called Kempton up when he couldn't figure something out. A good man in a shit place. I keep him on my list of essential people I could use should the opportunity arise.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I left the area letting my feet take me where they pleased. I ended up outside of the apartment building Grace and James inhabited. I hadn't seen much of them since I started working for Sinclair and I'm sure they were worried about me. I had gotten a few letters in the pneumo from Grace asking for a visit either to the apartment or to the Limbo Room. Something to ease her fears.

But I couldn't go see them. The last time I did, they were relentless in trying to figure out who I worked for. She had found out about the wound on my back regardless since I involuntarily winced when James hugged me tight. I shook my head and walked off before anyone could really notice me.

I returned to my cozy little apartment, hearing the _wonderful_ sounds of someone vomiting into a garbage bin and arguments echoing down the stairwell. Something shattered in one of the apartments above me followed by a long string of curses streaming out of a window. I kept my hands in my pockets and a grip on my butterfly knife.

I barely was in my apartment five minutes before a knock on the door startled me. "Delivery!" A man shouted from the other side. Looking through the peep hole, I saw a large dark skinned man looking bored as he held a paper bag in his hands. I opened the door and he held it out for me to take.

"Who's it from?" I asked.

"No clue, ma'am. I'm just the delivery man." I frowned but took the package regardless. Giving him a decent tip, he departed. Pulling the paper off revealed a wine bottle. What the hell is Chardonnay? It was made in the year 1919. "Okay then…" I muttered and went back into my apartment, being sure to lock the door behind me.

I had never tasted wine before, having been too young to have it when I came to Rapture, not even for a church commune. My mother wasn't a believer so I never had a chance to taste the sacramental wine that the local bishop would have people drink when they received their blessings. 'The blood of the Christ' I think they would say, which to me sounded a bit morbid. Who would want to drink someone's blood? Vampires and cannibals drink blood, but to drink 'blood' during church? That just sounded like sacrilege. There was a lot of the Catholic-Christian-whatever-it-is religion that I just didn't understand, but I really couldn't say anything about the matter since I never went to a church service.

I wasn't going to start attending the religious ramblings just to sate a curiosity _or stupidity_. Stupidity killed the cat, curiosity was framed. On top of that: god forbid if Sinclair ever thought I was 'curious' about religion, I'd never hear the end of it. I'm almost never curious; all I want is information. Curiosity has little to do with my decisions. I get my information, give it to Sinclair so he can feel all warm and fuzzy inside and go home to sleep until early the next morning.

I was also surprised to find that Sinclair had taken the liberty to add wine glasses to my cabinets that I hadn't noticed before, not that I was looking very hard. So taking a seat in my sitting room with a fresh glass of wine in my hand, I took an experimental sip of the wine and grimaced. It was bitter, but sweet at the same time – almost reminded me of grapefruit juice. I finished off the glass and deposited the glass in the sink to be washed a little later. The wine was stored for a later occasion since I wasn't planning on drinking it much.

After a quick shower, I emerged from the bathroom dressed in a pair of brown trousers and the navy blue shirt Sinclair had bought me the first day of our collaboration. I draped my towel over my hair and started to make my way to the kitchen.

I heard a small ding from the pneumo positioned by the door, meaning I had received some mail, more than likely from Sinclair since picking up the phone seemed to be too much work for him. Stanley was downright terrified of me to even consider sending me a letter. I opened the small hatch door and found my letter sitting in the slot. Sure enough it was an envelope from Sinclair, but when I opened it, I nearly dropped the papers like they were on fire: it was a confirmation for reservations at the Kashmir where one of Cohen's performances was going to be showing – "Why Even Ask" performed by Kyle Fitzpatrick and Silas Cobb. The names on the reservations were Mr. Augustus Sinclair and Ms. Hawkeye.

I knew how much the reservations cost, but for Sinclair to book it and inform me... surely he had gone mad. What did he hope to gain by sending me these? I shook my head and threw the papers on the coffee table and went to make myself some dinner. There was no way I was going to the Kashmir.

I looked up from my meal preparations sharply when I heard a few knocks on my door. For someone to come around at this time was suspicious since I had no acquaintances other than Grace, but she was performing tonight at the Limbo Room. Opening a nearby drawer, I pulled out a long carving knife for some protection should it be a Splicer deciding to use what little smarts they had to lure me out.

A quick peek through the peephole and I sighed in both relief and annoyance. I opened the door and grabbed Sinclair's shirt, pulling him inside quick. I slammed the door behind us and growled, "Are you out of your mind?"

Sinclair gave an innocent smile and glanced around, completely ignoring the knife in my hand. "I see you settled in nicely," He commented taking a seat on the loveseat. "Did you try some of the wine I sent you? I hope it was to your likin'."

I ignored his invasive questions. "Sure, make yourself at home. Eat some hard candy while you're at it. I hope you choke..." I grumbled. I made my way back into my kitchen to dispose of the knife seeing as how I had no use of it. I could kill Sinclair with my bare hands if the need ever arose. Or kill him with that stick he uses to smoke his cigarettes that he's so fond of.

"I see you've found my invitation." He seemed smug as he picked up the discarded paper on my coffee table.

"Yes, I did. Is this some sort of joke?" I growled, throwing the knife inside its respective drawer. I walked back to Sinclair and stood so that the coffee table was in between us. "I mean really! The Kashmir? 'Ms. Hawkeye'!"

"Well you won't tell me your real name so I didn't know what else to write-"

"That's beside the point. The Kashmir?! You must be nuts."

"Or maybe I wanted to take my best asset out for some dinner. Treat her like a real woman an' not some duct-rat in my employ."

I stopped my ranting. "What are you trying to gain?" I asked carefully.

For someone like Sinclair, nothing is done without some sort of profit involved. People down here always said that Sinclair had a heart of stone which I was inclined to agree. The only thing that made this man smile was the sound of money in his pocket and the information I'd give him which was technically even more money in his pocket.

Sinclair inhaled a hit of nicotine from his Oxford Club and answered, "To know a little more about my asset other than what she does for me and what her nickname is."

"You're willing to be seen with a duct-rat in a high end restaurant just to know my name."

"Is it that hard to believe? I truly want to know who you really are, Hawkeye, an' if it takes a dinner at the Kashmir, well then I'll step up to bat. Don't make me start beggin' now."

I sighed and placed my hand against my forehead. Sinclair was growing to be more of a headache as the weeks went on and he seemed to enjoy his role as my glorified headache. It wasn't that I disliked Sinclair, but I didn't like him either. I tolerated him, more or less, like one tolerates a rash on one's bum.

But I suppose dinner at the Kashmir wouldn't hurt since it would save me from having to cook my own meal. And on the plus, it would give me a potential list of targets to scope out for information that would make Sinclair smile like the Cheshire Cat from Lewis Carrol's popular story Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

"Fine."

"I knew you liked me."

"I don't. I tolerate your grating-on-my-nerves presence."

"So you do like me."

I groaned and left him where he sat to disappear into my room to find something suitable to wear.

I hadn't exactly looked over everything that Sinclair had taken the liberty of purchasing when I arrived and frankly I would have been surprised if the articles of clothing actually fit instead of me drowning in a shirt clearly a few sizes too large tucked into a pair of brown trousers I had stolen from a working stiffs locker when I was still living from doorway to doorway. The shoes I had purchased with my first paycheck fit nicely since my old pair had taken a toll for the worst after the run in with the Crawler. I still wore the stolen items since I had grown accustomed to their fit and bagginess.

I pulled open the armoire doors and nearly stumbled back when I laid eyes on a few knee-length cocktail dresses that hung on separate hangers, each dry-cleaned, ironed of all wrinkles and ready to be worn. I pulled out the crimson colored v-neck cocktail dress and laid it out on the bed for closer examination. It was solid crimson with the material made out of a mixture of silk and chiffon. Simple beading decorated the bodice and a wide collar so that the material would rest comfortably off to the side of my shoulders. Sinclair clearly had more style than he let on.

I shook my head and pulled off the clothing I was currently wearing. Slipping the dress over my head, I smoothed it out once it settled near perfect along my thin figure. I didn't have the ample bosom as most of the women did, but I had enough for it to be noticeable and to stay out of the 'flat-chested' zone, but I had no curves to speak of – a side effect from nearly being malnourished. I retied my braid just so it draped over my left shoulder for some sense of style – at least what I thought was style. With the final touch of a little makeup Sinclair once again took upon himself to buy and leave in my vanity plus a small ruby hairpin holding a bit of my bangs back from my blue eyes.

My mother once told me (back during the brief moment she actually cared) that I had gained my eyes from my father who I had never met. He had left shortly after I was born to fight in the big war, but my mother talked of nothing but distaste for his decision to join the war effort and offer his life for our country. It was a patriotic act, so when my mother spoke ill of him I would ignore her, having a form of respect for the deceased soldier.

With a final sigh of defeat, I joined Sinclair once more out in the sitting room. "Well, well," He mused standing up and setting his glass of wine on the coffee table. It seems he had helped himself to search for the bottle and retrieved a glass while he was waiting for me to finish up. "Don't you clean up nice – You actually look like a woman."

"Don't overstep my good fortune, Sinclair. Just be happy I agreed."

"Happy an' content."

He gave me a small bow like any gentleman would and offered me his arm once he was upright again. I rolled my eyes and setting my hand in the crook his elbow, allowing him to take the lead out the door of my apartment. I locked the door behind us and was lead to a bathysphere station where Sinclair's personal bathysphere waited for us.

I wrung my hands as the bathysphere took us to the Kashmir. Sinclair's hand rested on my thigh making me swallow hard. "Everything alright, darlin'?"

"Sure, I'm fine. Just leave it at that."

"Nervous about being seen by others there?" He asked. I shook my head and focused on the wide open ocean. A whale swam over a section of the city, uncaring like it was part of the terrain. A school of fish darted away to avoid the bathysphere. All the while, we were getting closer to the Kashmir.


	5. Pretty Bird

The Kashmir Restaurant screamed high class and elegance from the fountain shaped neon and porcelain sign that hung over the doorway to the people that entered her doors. Everything inside the restaurant was elegant and grand, more than likely expensive. The lobby itself was a little small compared to the rest of the restaurant, but was decorated accordingly to please the eyes and give the illusion of class. Sitting on each side of the Help and Reservations desk were two corridors: to the left was a corridor that no doubt led to the kitchen and the storage rooms while the corridor on the right led to the supervisor's office.

Each table was made of fine oak imported from the surface during the initial building of Rapture, the chairs matching the tables with a small cushion on each for the comfort of the guests. It reminded me just how out of place I was when it came to glamour of the rich and famous. Dresses that glittered and sparkled of varying expense adorned the women in a sea of color and extravagance. A duct-rat like myself milling about the rich and posh was something I wouldn't even dream of, much less actually do it. I could feel a few ladies draped over the arm of someone with money glowering at me cementing the idea that I didn't belong here. Maybe they despised my person because of whose arm I was holding. It was no secret that Sinclair preferred to attend parties solo, but still was asked to accompany women of varying notoriety and only accepted a few out of all of them. The last woman I heard was on his arm was Blanche de Glace, but that wasn't a very long period of time (3 days).

I glanced up at Sinclair to see if he noticed the stares, but he showed no notion that he did. In fact, Sinclair looked happy as a clam.

Sinclair guided us to the host who directed us to a table once he confirmed Sinclair's reservations. The dining foyer of the restaurant was definitely the main room of the restaurant. It consisted of a vast open center floor with a dessert table resting in the middle of it for the guests to help themselves or to order the wait staff to retrieve; two dining areas rested on each side of the room with two levels with balconies, a front second floor balcony. Large chandeliers hung in with equal spaces between each as they lined the ceiling. A stage in the back of the foyer where one of Sander Cohen's disciples was playing the grand piano with about a dozen couples dancing to it. If I remembered correctly, the disciple's name was Kyle Fitzpatrick - the Mozart from the drop. Another – Silas Cobb – was singing one of Sander's songs.

Fitzpatrick was about as old as I was, give or take a few years and had been under Sander Cohen's tutelage for a few years now. He used to be a resident of the Drop when he came here, but when his talent for playing the piano was discovered by Cohen he was quick to be snatched up and never again seen wandering the Drop looking for food. It was a little heartening to see someone from the Drop become somewhat of a success in the world of fortune.

Cobb had been a disciple of Cohen since Cohen was on Broadway as his music producer and anything else Cohen needed him to be: vocalist, pianist (when they couldn't get Kyle right away), guitarist (when they couldn't get Rodriguez right away), drummer – everything under the sun having to do with music.

We were seated at a table and the host waltzed off, nudging one of the many wait staff to get them to serve us. A young woman walked over and gave us a forced friendly smile. "What would you like to drink tonight? We have a wide variety of alcoholic beverages, soda pop, and a large collection of fine wine," She rambled off holding up a small pad and a pen.

Sinclair gave her a charming smile and said, "I'll have a gin and tonic if you would please, my dear." He looked over to me waiting for my answer.

It wasn't like I knew every drink combination out there, much less what wine would go well with the meal. I gave Sinclair a sharp look that screamed 'help' and he answered for me, "Make that two." The waitress nodded and jotted our orders down before handing us our menus. With the click of her heels, she left us to our menu gazing.

I was floored at how expensive the food prices were and was even more surprised when I saw that they had genuine beef from the surface. Normally for beef to be imported it cost an arm and a leg to do it, but I guess the Kashmir had that arm and leg to give up. Or they bought it from Fontaine and his band of smugglers. Either way...

I glanced over at Sinclair who closed up his menu and laid it down on the table. He already had his order and I was still trying to figure out what this French-Italian-something word was. There wasn't even a plain old burger on the menu! He must have noticed my confused look and asked, "Do you want me to order for you?" I looked away in my slight embarrassment and nodded curtly. "It's safe to assume you've never been to a high-end restaurant."

Either he was daft or teasing me. I glanced around at other couples or dinner parties that were seated at the other tables and all of them had one thing in common: They were making supposedly inconspicuous glances at me. Figured, none of them knew who I was and the women were nothing but a bunch of gossiping busybodies who didn't know how to keep their nose out of someone's business. Right about now, Sinclair and I were the talk of the busybodies.

The waitress finally returned after 20 minutes of waiting with our drinks and Sinclair placed our orders: A roast turkey with dressing and potato slices for him and a chicken fricassee served with rice for me. The waitress left once again. I took a hesitant sip of the gin and tonic finding the taste somewhat unpleasant since I never really drank before in my life. Mostly due to some… I guess childhood trauma of my mother drinking herself into a stupor which caused us to lose all of our money, ending with her in the Pink Pearl and myself wandering the streets trying to avoid being killed or starving to death. My mother had also threatened to light me on fire once with vodka and a book of matches when I wouldn't stop saying I was hungry.

Sinclair entwined his fingers together and set his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. "So, what do you think?"

"Think of what?"

"Think you'll tell me your name now?"

I shook my head at his persistence and gazed around the room once again. I was a little surprised to see the Andrew Ryan sitting at a table with another woman that I recognized as Diane McClintock gushing over something or another. Ryan looked about as interested in what she had to say as a cat did an annoying child poking its side. He looked in pain like listening to Diane talk was the most torturous thing ever. I didn't know whether to feel bad for Diane or feel bad for Ryan.

Our food arrived in a timely manner and we ate our meals in relative silence aside from the occasional questions from Sinclair about the food or the waitress refilling Sinclair's gin and tonic since I barely drank any of mine. Sinclair touched my hand and gestured his head toward a skinny woman with black hair pinned back by a hair clip with dangly hoop earrings hanging from her earlobes. She dressed swished around her ankles as she stalked toward young Kyle Fitzpatrick with her nose upturned. "That's Anna Culpepper. She and Sandy Cohen have a sort of rivalry in Fort Frolic. She's _very _popular with ol' Andy." There was a very sarcastic tone to his voice. "She could be someone you could look into for me. Ryan would appreciate it."

"Another body to float in the ocean," I commented knowing what Sinclair was implying. "More than likely it's Cohen voicing his extreme hatred of her to Ryan and Ryan just wants Cohen to shut up. And with the things she's been singing, it's no surprise Ryan agrees."

I watched Kyle look up at her almost fearful like he was staring Death in the face. I couldn't hear what they were saying over the conversations of the people around us, but from I could gather from Kyle's reaction and Anna's angered features she must have been bitching about why some of her music wasn't being played. Kyle was more than likely trying and failing horribly to defend himself from the wrath of the woman. Silas pulled the woman away from and pointedly gestured to the exit. As I say: Never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die. Poor guy.

Anna let out a frustrated scream and stomped off. Kyle let out an inhaled breath and solemnly continued playing a little more rigid than the smooth flowing music that he was playing before. Silas leaned over and patted the boy's shoulder. The patrons whispered amongst themselves over the whole ordeal. Anna probably wouldn't be able to show her face in public without a boat full of scrutiny.

The waitress returned and cleared away our empty plates and handed us the dessert menu. I pushed the menu away; I learned my lesson from the first menu fiasco. Sinclair smiled at my resistance of menus now and placed his own down on top once he had decided what to order. "So you've been working with me for nearly a year. Any chance I can finally know your name out of the kindness of your little heart?"

I once again ignored him. If he decided a good dessert, maybe I'd give him the benefit of knowing my name. It was a game that was becoming boring, but I wasn't just going to just give it to him. Make him work for it; a new game to play. "What about you tell me about your family? I know virtually nothing about you."

I bit the inside of my cheek before deciding to be nice for once. "I was born in 1935, February 15th. Father died a few years after I was born. Came down here with my mother."

"When did you come to Rapture?" He questioned, looking genuinely interested about me and my life.

"1948."

Sinclair clicked his tongue and finally asked the dreaded question, "Why did you end up on the streets? I thought you'd have lodgin' from your mother."

"We did when we first came," I started. Sinclair deserved to know with how well he'd been treating me; a nice change from the cold stares and snide remarks. "A nice little place in the Rapture Metro Apartments. My mother worked in Hephaestus, but was a violent drunk. After getting caught drinking on job she was fired. She spent most of her time in the pubs and eventually was almost never home. Found out she started to whore herself out: first at the Luxury Rooms and then at the Pearl. Our renter kicked us out and I never saw from her again leaving me to wander Pauper's Drop for something to eat at the age of 14. I adapted, learned the air duct systems and survived. That's my sob story."

Sinclair nodded respectfully and leaned back in his seat. "What about you? Quid pro quo?" I questioned taking another sip of the gin and tonic. I was getting used to the taste now and could tolerate it just a little more than the first sip.

"Me? I was raised in sunny Panama. Granddaddy helped build the big ditch until he drowned in it. Then I moved to Georgia to strike it rich. Rapture all the same. I also used to raise prize winnin' spaniels. Smartest hounds I ever worked with. Great huntin' dogs too. I'd embarrass myself if I told you how old I am."

I smiled and said, "40." He looked surprised but the realization washed over him that I knew a bit more than I let on. Sinclair's life wasn't exactly that under the wraps. "And you're spending time with a 20-year-old. That doesn't look strange at all."

He just grinned and let out a belly laugh. "With age comes wisdom an' experience."

The conversation was cut short when the waitress returned and Sinclair gave her the order of angel cake with strawberry sauce drizzled over the top.

When it was delivered to our table it took one bite to make me see heaven. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my life and it wasn't much of a life.

Once dessert was finished we reclined slightly in our chairs, stuffed and ready for a good night's sleep. I noticed Sinclair's gaze on me and finally I asked, "What is it?"

"Let's dance."

He stood up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me with him to the ballroom floor. Kyle was playing a piece by Bach that was more on the slower side. I gave Sinclair a slightly nervous look, having never danced before in my life; not even to Grace's songs. I always arrived after closing so there was no dancing involved. The less contact with people I had, the happier I was, so Sinclair and Grace were the only ones I had any real contact with. "I-I don't know how to dance."

"It's easy," He reassured, resting his hand on my waist and taking my left hand in his right hand. He guided me through the steps and I caught on quickly and finally Sinclair could enjoy the dance without having to worry about me impaling his foot with my heels. "So, did you have a good time tonight?" He questioned into my ear.

I honestly nodded. It was the most uncomfortable thing I had ever done, but I was glad I accepted. "Jamie Donovan."

"Pardon?"

I swallowed the saliva that built up in my mouth. "My name is Jamie Donovan."

"Pleased to know your name, Miss Donovan."

The night ended after a few more songs and Sinclair paid the bill for the meal.

He walked me home. It felt a little strange to just walk home since I normally used the air ducts to get to my destinations, but it was nice. Frightening, but nice. It was just something I wasn't used to with my life. When we reached my door, I released Sinclair's arm. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_, Miss Jamie Donovan."

"Don't make me regret telling you my name, Sinclair."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Donovan."

I bade him a good night and walked into my apartment. I checked the pneumo for any messages I might have received and was pleasantly surprised to see one from Grace inviting me to the Limbo tomorrow for a special Jazz Night they were performing. She mentioned in her letter that she was a little worried that I didn't stop in as often as I used to at night and she just wanted to know if I was alright and settling in well.

I kicked my heels off once I was safe inside my bedroom and stripped my dress off, tossing it over the vanity chair. I changed into a nightgown and crawled into bed, enjoying the soft covers that enveloped me. I knew better than to wonder when the next one was, but this would be the best memory that I would cherish. Sure, the human body had 7 billion nerves and Sinclair always managed to get on every single one of them, but he at least knew how to show a woman a good time.

For those few short hours, I felt more like a woman than a duct-rat. I felt… pretty and valued.


	6. Ruffled Feathers

Dymond: You know, I've been thinking that maybe Jamie's theme song would be Demons by Imagine Dragons. Every time I listen to that song all I picture is Jamie. Oh well, that's my thought of the day. Reviews make me happy!

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><p>Newspaper clenched in my fist, I burst into Sinclair's office startling him. "I see you <em>have<em> heard of a door," He chuckled, despite knowing I was angry.

"What the _hell_ is this?!" I demanded, waving the newspaper for him to see. I was almost violent I was so pissed. I had only glanced over the newspaper to see if there was anything worthwhile when a headline popped out at me and sent me into a blind rage. I slapped the newspaper on the desk and stabbed the article with my butterfly knife leaving a mark in his desk. "_Sinclair's Newest Dame_," I read off. It even showed a picture of the two of us dancing. "I thought you had Stanley paid off."

Sinclair picked up the newspaper and read over the article. "I pay Stanley not to write any negative articles 'bout me an' the reason this article is here is because Stanley didn't write it. Alex Baker did."

I frowned at the name, my anger boiling down to just below seething. "That damned paparazzi… I thought he was too consumed by Fontaine's personal life." I ran my hand though my bangs and slumped in one of the seats in front of his desk. I turned in it sideways and rested by legs up on the armrest.

Sinclair looked at the picture again and pointed out, "At least it's the back of your head… Wait there's someone _actually_ interested in what Frankie does in his personal life?"

I nodded and crossed my arms. "I'm surprised he hasn't ended up dead."

He chuckled at that. "Ol' Cranky Frankie's probably being careful at this point."

"I know he is. He barely does anything himself for his business. Everything I've seen, it's been someone else doing the dirty work," I explained.

"Good, you have been keepin' up with him. I was getting worried!" He grinned, pearly white teeth glaring back at me. He finished his cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray. His secretary came in and delivered some documents pertaining to the Sinclair Solutions labs and emptied his ashtray. She paid me no mind whatsoever, used to my presence there. As quick as she arrived, she was gone with a final, "Good day, Mr. Sinclair."

Sinclair quickly glanced over the reports from the labs before setting it aside for a more in depth review later. "Now, as fumin' as you are about this article, I know it's not the only one you noticed."

I rolled my eyes and nodded. It had front page headline news, how could I miss it? Not only that, I was there when they pulled him out of the water to begin with. _The biggest news of the century_ it claimed: a newcomer who showed up in a diving bell with the personal and exclusive interview with the Rapture Tribune.

The man was apparently deep sea diver investigating the disappearances of many ships and submarines in the area around Rapture. The citizens welcomed him with open arms wanting to know about what the surface was like in recent times since the war was supposedly over. Even _I_ didn't know his real name since whenever he would try to correct someone on the nickname they would blow him off and continue with the Johnny Topside nonsense. He had already become something of a celebrity around Rapture, but Ryan was convinced he was a spook from the surface come to ransack his city and beat it into submission for their government.

From what I could figure out, he was an average guy that was in the wrong place at the right time it seemed, having arrived in Rapture in a diving bell – a feat nearly impossible since Rapture was supposed to be well hidden. He didn't really enjoy all the attention he was getting, but enjoyed the luxuries that came with it: the free shows as Fort Frolic, the meals at the Kashmir, the attention of a few single women. The guy was alright in my book, just a man of unfortunate chance to arrive here in Rapture the way he did and with Ryan's growing time bomb of paranoia.

I wasn't surprised when Sinclair said, "Andy wants Johnny locked up."

I gave him a mock surprised look. "You mean he made it a week without being locked up? I'm amazed at Ryan's restraint."

Sinclair tapped his cigarette on the cut glass ashtray and nodded. "You an' me both, darlin'. But I don't care about Andy's desire for ol' Johnny boy to see the inside of one of my cells. I'm more interested in the fact that Stanley is gettin' off track. Andy wants results on Lamb an' giving me the cold shoulder about any other business we were going to make. Honestly, I'm hurt."

"Sure you are. I'm sure your wounded pride can recover." I sighed and got up from the chair. "I'm on it. Meet me at Mo's in 30 minutes."

"Will do. Have fun."

Sinclair wasn't wrong about Stanley not being as productive as we'd like. Poole was all over this man like a fruit fly on a withering peach wanting to get the story about the man. He was relentless until Johnny finally gave in and accepted being interviewed. The diver was flustered by the personal questions that Stanley would ask and tried his hardest to avoid the squirrel of a man, but was failing horribly. Maybe he should have answered the questions because now Ryan wants him gone.

I left Sinclair's office to track down Squirrely Stanley and last I heard he was headed for one of the cafés in Olympus Heights stalking Johnny again. It wasn't that hard to find him, really: Just had to follow the stench of body odor coming from Stanley Poole who obviously hadn't heard of personal hygiene. Just like I predicted: he was following Johnny Topside around like a bad rash.

Seeing no other option for discretion, I reached out and grabbed Stanley by the back of his shirt. I jerked him back from the newcomer and growled, "Don't you have a job to be doing? Sinclair's getting antsy."

"Y-Yeah, right, on it!" He scurried away before he could aggravate me any more than he already had. That was easier than I expected.

I gave Johnny a nod and went to leave, but he touched my shoulder to stop me. "Wait a second," He added.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. I couldn't get him to leave me alone for the life of me." He smiled in relief and quickly removed his hand from my shoulder in favor of scratching the back of his neck.

I shrugged. "Poole's a pest. Just swat him over the back of the head if he bugs you." He nodded and quickly looked around, before finally catching sight of Poole rushing through one of the bulkheads. "He's in a hurry. What job is he supposed to be doing?"

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked off. "For your health, I wouldn't ask too many questions like that."

"Why not?" He jogged up to walk beside me. I stopped and looked up at him quickly realizing just how tall he was. He could have easily towered over Sinclair since I almost had to crane my neck to look up at him with my meager 162 cm.

I leaned in close. "Because you're walking through an ocean full of sharks. The sharks swimming around outside are less dangerous than in here. Be careful what you say around others."

Sinclair had smirked when I approached him. He was waiting patiently for me at a small diner called Mo's Diner to avoid some unnecessary attention since the newspaper article. He had already ordered two slices of handmade blueberry pie for us. "Never thought you'd save him from Stanley," Sinclair pointed out, the smile never leaving. "Much less save anyone." He helped himself to his piece of pie and grinned at the taste. "This is pretty good."

I picked up my own fork and dug in to the free pie. "Stanley's a pest and he's new here. I only did him that small favor. Besides, it got Stanley back on track."

He shook his head and leaned in. "So, any dirt on our dear friend Johnny Topside?"

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat. "He's not here for what Ryan thinks he is if that's what you're asking. He was looking into the disappearances of submarines and ships that vanished during the war around here. I wouldn't be surprised if Ryan blew them out of the water to protect the city. That or the war got them and they're sunk nearby."

Sinclair let out a loud sigh and announced, "Well, as much as you love our chats, I have to get back to work. All these businesses don't run themselves, you know." He threw some money down on the table for the wine he was drinking and the pies and snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. He gave me one last thousand dollar Steinman smile and meandered towards the bathysphere station, leaving me to sit and bask in the welcomed silence with the exception of the small talk people around me were doing, but I could easily block them out.

Over a full year I had been working for Sinclair; nearly 7 years living in Rapture; almost 6 years without any hide or hair of my mother coming around asking for money which that in itself was a blessing. For once, I enjoyed where I was at: aside from the occasional splicer attack and dealing with Stanley, I could tolerate it and for once worrying about getting a shiv in my belly was not on the top of my priority list. It was still there don't get me wrong, but I wasn't as worried about it as I was before Sinclair came around.

The title of 'duct-rat' did come with perks. I didn't know anyone else with that title attached to their person since it used to mean something equal to the excrement stuck to the bottom of someone's boot, but now being a duct-rat was a job that I could pride myself in saying I did quite well. I could even say I was a master at hiding in plain sight. I may still dress the same as I did when I first made the deal with Sinclair – brown trousers, a white work shirt and worn shoes with socks – but that was just what I was used to wearing for climbing through the air ducts.

I finished the pie Sinclair so graciously bought and left for the Limbo Room to watch one of Grace's shows that I had promised to see after my visit to her a week ago.

The Limbo Room was packed with the people of Pauper's Drop already, waiting to hear the songs that Grace would sing about life in the Drop. Grace made her way to the stage, her beautiful voice immediately filling the room with her songs, making people in the room smile, clap and dance along with the words. Some even started to sing-a-long having heard it before, but even that was butchered since most couldn't remember 2/3rds of the song when they were completely smashed.

I gave Grace a rare smile and leaned against the back wall, crossing my arms. Grace was a beautiful woman, even with her twilight years coming up on her. She had the wrinkles to signify her age, but age was kind to her – aging her like a fine wine. She was still beautiful and people often gave James a clap on the shoulder saying how lucky he was. Even now in her blue sun dress with a yellow scarf wrapped around her graceful neck, she shined like a star her face showing the feelings of her words. She expressed the sympathy and understanding as the songs required, but there was also sadness to it, which had never been there before. I glanced around for any sign of James, but was shocked to not see his curly head of hair anywhere. He was always at Grace's shows, showing support for the woman he loved.

Perhaps he got caught up at work or was sick. No need to jump to any conclusions just yet. He was there a week ago, so I hoped he was fine.

The show came to a close and the Limbo was slowly emptied out since she was taking a break before the midnighters came in. Grace waved me towards the backstage area and I followed, looking around for any wandering eye on myself or on Grace. Grace's dressing room was just how I had left it the day I moved into the apartment in Apollo Square; the same vanity covered in makeup and other necessities, only difference was a new picture of Grace and James embracing each other with smiles on their faces and a note from James saying _With all my love, x James_. A nice little token of love from James, nothing too extravagant, but romantic nonetheless just like what Grace deserved.

"James is gone..." Grace stated – her voice cracking to show she was holding back tears.

"What?" James? Grace's James? He was gone?

"I think he was trying to organize the folks against Ryan... And now he's gone!" Grace explained, the tears starting to fall. My face fell – now I understood.

There was a little talk about rebelling against Ryan, about making him see what was really happening down here, but normally that was as far as it went: talk. All it would take is one squealer to go squealing to Sullivan and they'd end up locked up in Persephone. "And now..." Grace choked out, her hands clenching her dress. "I'm scared to death that they're going to come for me!"

This was not what Grace deserved. There was no way I was going to let Ryan take Grace from her place here. Sure, she didn't deserve the Drop, but the people needed her or else there'd be riots in the streets and a lot more dead. Her music flooding the intercoms of Pauper's Drop got people through the day; I know it soothed me on more than one occasion from the fears of Rapture's nights and the madness around me. "James was the only man I ever loved... Now it's like he never came to Rapture," She spoke, mostly to distract herself from the pain of losing him. "He heard me sing in the Limbo Room, came up all bashful." She smiled at the memory. "He liked to hear songs about what really happens here in this town. Baby girl, he thought of you as his daughter."

I remembered that night. It was one of the first nights I had spent sleeping in Grace's dressing room for the night. I had arrived earlier than normal to hear Grace sing again and watched James ask her on a date. He had a bouquet of lilies with him, wrapped in white tissue paper. Never had I seen a black man blush that red before; looked like a cherry dipped in chocolate I had thought and made me giggle at the notion. James never knew why I had unconsciously called him 'Red' for a while until I was a little older and could fully explain it to him in a way that made sense.

James could sing too, but stage fright always got the best of him and made his voice squeak something terrible. It was always at its best when he thought no one was listening.

I allowed myself to give Grace a comforting hug to try and ease her pain, but I knew that the loss of James was hard for her. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I gave her one last squeeze before releasing her.

I walked her home, just listening to her tell stories of the things she and James had done to put her mind at ease. The few stories about Eleanor Lamb caught my attention though. I heard of Sofia's daughter, but it sounded like this girl was a genius being home-schooled by Sofia herself, isolated from the rest of Rapture's children and society. I didn't know if I should dislike the girl for being Sofia's child or feel pity for her because she's Sofia's child.

She gave me another hug when we reached her door in the Sinclair Deluxe and retreated inside to no doubt cry herself to sleep, knowing she was going to sleep without James for the first time in a long time. "Try and get some sleep, Gracie. I'll see what I can do about James.

I let out a long sigh at Ryan's growing cruelty: James didn't deserve to be locked up in Persephone. He just wanted things better for the people of the Drop which shouldn't entitle imprisonment. But going against Ryan held a death sentence.

With the coming New Year, Ryan would only get worse. Getting better was not in the near future for sure. Ryan growing a single moral bone in his body was like asking a jellyfish to do the same. I didn't know how much I could keep Grace out of the line of fire, knowing she had gone to see Sofia Lamb; the very woman I was working with Sinclair and Ryan to take down, not that I'd ever tell Grace that.

My apartment seemed darker now. While I was snug asleep in my bed, James was trapped in Persephone. I knew Sinclair wasn't the worst owner in the world and made sure the inmates were fed properly, but it was still prison: no different than those on the surface.

I did mention it to Sinclair and while he couldn't go against Andrew Ryan's orders, he could at least make sure James was properly taken care of and never uncomfortable. Even gave visiting rights to Grace if she so pleased. It wasn't James' freedom, but it was the best I could do. He was healthy at least.

* * *

><p>Only 2 months into 1955 had passed before Johnny Topside became a ghost; completely wiped from Rapture's records and people told to forget him. Sinclair had said that he was surprised that Johnny had lasted as long as he did with Ryan's paranoia, but figured it was my lack of anything incriminating on him that kept him safe – mostly. His downfall was his own doing: he made the mistake of voicing to Sullivan of all people that Ryan was a little power hungry that earned him the one-way trip to Persephone to shut him up. Did I feel bad for him or guilty that I couldn't save him? No. I warned him that he wasn't to let his guard down for a second.<p>

And he thought I was just joking.

Sinclair dragged me along to the St. Patrick's Day party at the Sinclair Spirits. All I could say was 'typical Americans'. What truly surprised me was that Fontaine had made an appearance. Only briefly, but it was enough to drive a stake of fear in me. Fontaine was someone I both respected and feared despite everything else in Rapture. Fontaine was nothing but a conman who always manages to be where the evidence isn't like any top-rate conman because he pays someone _else_ to be there. He was the most dangerous type of conman as well; the kind with vision. He was the one who initially funded the research into ADAM when Tenenbaum discovered it, deciding the kraut's crazy ideas might make a profit. If anyone was going to take Rapture from Ryan, it was Fontaine no doubt about it.

I had overheard that Fontaine was getting a new secretary having 'fired' that old Betty that used to work for him and constantly bitched about him at the Fighting McDonagh's. I've heard my fair share of an earful from her when I'd turn into her venting post. I knew well enough that she was dead.

Fontaine had left about an hour after he had arrived with a cigar between his teeth and his hired muscle behind him. Sinclair clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Well, that was bracin'. I sent that invitation as a joke."

"What did you expect from Fontaine? He's not exactly quiet about his businesses or his presence. Much like you but scarier."

"I'm not scary?" He took a minor offense to the comment.

I gave him a skeptical look and said, "Sinclair, you're about as terrifying as a box full of lizards. Some may find you scary, but to me, lizards aren't scary at all."

"A box full of lizards?"

"Yes."

Sinclair hummed again and inhaled his nicotine stick. "I guess that's not the worst I've been called."

"I could get more creative."

"No, no, a box of lizards is fine an' dandy. So anything of interest?"

"You're secretary is sleeping with one of Fontaine's boys. Your 'Head of Marketing' – Harold, right? – is skimping the money you give him for the advertisement of Sinclair Solutions and secretly selling ideas to Fontaine. He just admitted to coming into a large amount of cash to one of the ladies here. Also said that you wouldn't notice."

Sinclair hummed in disapproval of Harold's actions. Thankfully, Sinclair wasn't like Fontaine where people end up disappearing or dead. He just fires them and makes their lives as miserable as possible. "Keep it up, darlin'." Sinclair moseyed on to talk to a few others of his clients.

There were a few others noteworthy like Hector Rodriguez. He was another of Cohen's disciples; a musician that favored the acoustic guitar over any other string instrument I knew he could play. He also favored a bottle of whatever he could get his hands on over human contact aside from Kyle Fitzpatrick (in more way than one, which I don't judge over) and Silas Cobb (with his music).

Diane McClintock was also there with Anya Andersdotter and Glace de Blanche, enjoying the variety of wine Sinclair had sold in the brewery at a discount for the New Year's party. She looked distressed about something, but every time she'd try to voice her problem to Blanche she was thoroughly ignored by the woman flirting with the man next to her, enticing him with her flowing French accent. Anya apparently wasn't being much help and seemed keener on talking about her daughter. Diane eventually gave up trying to talk to her 'friends' and lost herself in her wine.

The rest of the night was uneventful with bouncers occasionally throwing the completely pissed patron out of the place to throw up in the boardwalk. Sinclair _politely_ dismissed the moronic Harold to go home in shame. He'd probably end up in the Drop or worse. Not that I cared what became of him.

Sinclair escorted me to the Metro Station and bade me goodnight. I was unaware of what tomorrow would bring. Specifically in the form of an annoying woman who would become a secretary.


	7. Bloodied Hawk

You know the drill: Rate, review, love, hate, I don't care just don't set on fire.

* * *

><p>I should have kept my mouth shut about that moron Travers discussing with that cold-as-ice woman named Doris about sending a temporary secretary to Fontaine the next day – someone named Camille. Sinclair's own new secretary had left several minutes prior to me arriving in his office after Sinclair had sent a letter, but had left a second cup of coffee for myself even though I hate coffee. That cup was swatted across the room as I shouted, "You're insane!" Sinclair had voiced that I should go see what the new secretary was like.<p>

"What's insane about it?"

"Look, you may get this strange notion that targeting people around Fontaine is a good idea, but I can tell you right now: messing with his secretary would not only get me killed, but if would get _her_ killed if he feels like she's in too deep with you."

Sinclair folded his fingers together and rested his chin on them. "If I can become friendly with her, it may just save her life. You couldn't get anywhere with his last secretary because… what were your words again? 'She's snide woman with a stick jammed so far up her rear end she's coughin' out splinters'. Those were your words. This is a new girl. Someone already on our radar. If she goes missin', we know it's him."

"A lot of 'if'." I shook my head. "I've seen the new girl already. Her apartment is a floor above me. She's just a goody-two-shoes with a pretty face who stares _longingly_ at Olympus Heights like every other dame there. Fontaine's going to scare her shitless and then we're back at square one." He hummed and smiled. I knew where this was going. "You still want me to find her weak spots."

"Bingo! This should be simple. Women always get along right?"

I snorted. "What universe did you crash land from?"

"Timbuktu. See what you can get from this girl. Anythin' of Fontaine's is somethin' I want information on."

"You must really want me dead," I stated crossing my arms in a huff.

Sinclair chuckled humorously as he corrected, "I'm not trying to get you killed, my dear Jamie. But soon I'm goin' to be goin' to arrangin' a meetin' with ol' Franky an' I'd like to know who he has in his arsenal. I already know about his bodyguards, but this is a new player in our game of chess. I have to know if I need to move a pawn to take her out or use her to swing around to the king. And if I know you, you won't let anythin' happen that would get me into a predicament where it comes back at you."

I shook my head seeing his logic: anything happened to Sinclair would come back to bite me in the ass in the long run. I had tried my best to keep my losses from Sinclair at minimal, but due to Suchong's patient files on me I was now on record. I did steal my file from his filing cabinet, but I couldn't burn them. They had my medical history which if I had any future medical appointments they would be needed. So they were stored in Sinclair's safe. It'd take a good set of chain cutters to cut ties with Sinclair now. The moment the wrong party got a hold of that file – Jamie Donovan would become known to the public.

I comforted myself with telling myself that spying on someone more close to my age was a nice change since it meant that they weren't the typical captain of industry or a grumpy worker in Hephaestus like ol' Peachy and that meant they didn't have their head up their ass. It was quite the change from the bitch that used to be Fontaine's secretary. I guess I could be thankful that she was dead now so I wouldn't see her elsewhere.

I took a position in the air vent over the soon-to-be secretary's desk area and relaxed, ready for the long haul. The only excitement so far had been Fontaine exiting his office with a cigar in hand. Fontaine had taken to looking over the desk to make sure everything was in place like he had no doubt told someone to do. He wandered back into his office and that was the last I saw of him.

Camille Adler walked in carrying a box of her belongings. Sinclair would get a kick out of her when he saw her. This was the woman unfortunate enough to get put to work for Fontaine, even if it was only temporary until they found someone to fill the position permanently – I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She gave a start as the turret out front beeped at her, forcing me to bite my lip to contain my laughter.

Straightening herself out with a fresh appliance of makeup and smoothing her skirt, she knocked on Fontaine's door. I could tell she was ready to bolt at any sign of danger. "Come in," Came the reply and she disappeared into his office. I sighed and crawled as quietly as possible around the vents until I was overlooking the small wet bar in Fontaine's office. It was difficult to see them with the small vent, but at least I could hear them.

"I'm Camille Adler. They transferred me from Finance."

Fontaine gave her the run down on her workspace and what she'd be doing for him – boring. I wondered if she knew what Fontaine's business was truly like and how long she'd last knowing what she did. Almost contemplating making a bet with Sinclair to make the outcome a little interesting, but decided against it. He handed her some ledgers from the Fisheries to calculate to make sure none of the boys were skimming off the top. I could already tell he knew someone was, but wanted to find out whom via the ledgers. Dead men were walking the Fisheries now.

I left as silently as I came.

I dropped out of the air vents into Sinclair's office only to see he wasn't there, probably dealing with something or another over at one of his many businesses. I sat down patiently on the lounge chair situated opposite of his desk and drummed my fingers on the material.

My thoughts drifted once more to Camille Adler: How did someone like her end up in Rapture? I had seen her once before only briefly around the Artemis Suites, but paid no mind to her aside from where she worked. Before, she was someone I wouldn't have considered to mention to Sinclair, but with her new position as Fontaine's secretary she had put herself on my radar – poor thing. To top it off, her apartment was only a few doors away from me.

Sinclair walked into his office a few minutes later and jumped a little spotting me sitting on his couch. "Back already?"

"I get my work done quickly. Or did you not figure that out?"

Sinclair smiled then asked, "So what did you find out, darlin'?"

"Same as what I told you before. Camille Adler is a pretty thing, maybe a little skittish, but otherwise it seems like Fontaine wants to keep her," I rattled off.

He quirked an eyebrow. "He wants to keep her? What gave that away?"

"Fontaine normally has the habit of scaring the _shit_ out of his new employees from day one regardless if he was hiring them or not. Wasn't the case here."

"Is this the same Frank we're talking about?"

"The same Frank Fontaine we're talking about," I replied smoothly.

Sinclair hummed appreciatively, drumming his fingers against his desk as he took a seat in his chair. "Seems Miss Adler is one to keep an eye on. She's our ticket in the door if treated correctly. It's one thing to have a contract from Fontaine Futuristics, but it's another to get the insider on ol' Franky. I got a meetin' with Fontaine in about a week, so we'll see how this pays off."

"Good luck with that."

"Oh don't think you're not goin' with."

My eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. "What are you talking about? You've never had me 'sit-in' on your meetings."

"Oh, you're not sittin' in on the meetin'. You're going to watch Miss Adler an' see how she reacts to me."

I sighed in defeat and got off the couch. "I'm off to _check up_ on your secretary. Saw her with that big bodyguard of Fontaine's at the Kashmir: Larry. Curious as to how she can afford the Kashmir."

"Maybe she saved up?" Sinclair suggested, but smirked at the annoyed look I made. "I'm guessin' you've seen her there more than once."

"Four times. In a month."

He leaned back in his seat and lit up another cigarette. "I don't pay her that much to afford that. Take care of it!" He called after me as I leapt off his desk and into the air vent.

I was right when it came to his secretary. Julia was sleeping with Larry and was apparently slipping cash from Sinclair's received mail to pay for their dates to the Kashmir and for surgeries with Steinman so she was taking more money than I originally anticipated. Dumb bitch. She always rubbed me the wrong way with the amount of cosmetic surgery she has done to her face and breasts. It was a wonder if anything on her was real.

I relayed the information to Sinclair via the pneumo and let a smile slip.

Finally, I would no longer have to smell that god awful perfume ever again. It always lingered and ended up in my clothes when she sprayed it on especially thick. I almost stabbed her a few times for that alone but Sinclair denied my request to do it.

Sinclair wasn't even polite about firing her the next day. On top of that, he threatened to lock her up in Persephone should she mention anything to anyone about his private dealings or me. She left with the most fearful look on her face – I was so proud of Sinclair.

I knew she'd probably angrily ramble about it once the inevitable drinking habit forms, but who'd believe a drunken former secretary?

* * *

><p>I definitely called it when Travers stopped by Fontaine's office to announce he had found a replacement. Fontaine wanted to keep Camille on, sick of the idiots Travers sent his way. How many secretaries had this man gone through? Three? Four, if I remember correctly.<p>

He also promised to move her out of Artemis Suites and within a few days there was a vacant apartment on the floor above me. Camille was in deep already. It would only be a matter of time before she got the scare treatment.

The day of Sinclair's meeting with the Boogeyman came and I reached my designated section of the air vents overlooking the secretary's desk I was quick to realize that it was hotter than hell in here meaning the heating system was on the fritz. I was going to seriously injury Sinclair for putting me through this. Sweat dripped off of my nose and I wiped away what sweat I could on to my sleeve

Fontaine had come out and after an exchange of words told her to go and collect Sinclair from the reception area. It only took a few brief minutes for Camille to return with Sinclair in tow discussing the conditions of the room that was supposed to be the coolest room in the building that she could find. I also noted the blush on her face and vaguely wondered what Sinclair had said to her. That or she had a thing for older men – time would tell. If she thought it was hot down there, I silently wished that she was in here sweating her nonexistent balls off for the sake of being Sinclair's moral support and seeing if _I_ was an easy target.

The room she led him into where Fontaine was already waiting in one of the black leather seats, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the table. He stood up one Sinclair was in his line of sight and stuffed one of his hands into his pockets, the other extending out to Sinclair. "Hey Gus," He greeted smoothly. "Good to see ya."

I almost scoffed; Fontaine was as happy to see Sinclair as one was happy to find a rattlesnake in his bed. Sinclair had probably thought the same thing I did when his eyes narrowed and he gripped Fontaine's hand, giving it a firm shake. "Yes, good to see you too, Frank."

Camille seemed to be a little on edge about leaving these two alone. If I had to put words to watching Frank Fontaine and Augustus Sinclair stare each other down was something like watching a gunfight about to go off. I didn't even know who would come out of that one alive since Fontaine was a conman good at his job while Sinclair had conmen in his pocket, whether free or locked up in Persephone.

Fontaine had his secretary get them some drinks and after she returned, Sinclair grabbed her wrist and asked for an ashtray: my queue to follow Camille once again and that he had the rest of this meeting handled. I glanced down at Sinclair a little wary of leaving him alone with a man that had most of the working class terrified – myself included – but I knew Sinclair had dealt with Fontaine before. This would be no different than the rest.

Camille spent the rest of the meeting at her desk with an improvised, folded paper fan in hand and repeated getting glasses of water which tormented me to no end. Water sounded absolutely delightful right now, but it wasn't like I could jump down and get a glass myself without giving myself away. On top of that I couldn't just leave Sinclair here. Sinclair wasn't one of hired muscle, but would normally have one standing on hand in case things went south. Sinclair, the bastard, figured I'd be enough protection with the element of surprise on my side, but I knew Fontaine's muscle wasn't too far off, both of which had some their fair share of gene splicing making it a very dangerous outcome for me.

He was trying to get me killed, I swear to god.

Sinclair and Fontaine finally emerged from the meeting no worse for wear from what I could tell. Sinclair purposely made a pass at the secretary to get under Fontaine's skin as he had a habit of doing with people he worked with. "Kid, show him out," Fontaine ordered. He stormed into his office and gave the poor door a final slam to show he was pissed.

The meeting had gone very well for Sinclair it seemed. "It... didn't go so well, I guess?" She asked carefully in case Fontaine was still listening.

Sinclair let out some air and said, "I thought it went _very _well, but I s'pose your boss is a temperamental man, hmm?" Understatement of the year.

"You _could_ say that," She replied in a hushed tone.

Smart girl. Even if Fontaine was out of earshot, that didn't mean that he didn't have ears everywhere, but also not smart for voicing that to Sinclair and unknowingly me. Anything bad said about Fontaine from his employees found that their stay in Rapture would be cut short like Sammy who had voiced that he was going to go to the constable. Heard Fontaine's boys had him locked in a freezer in the fisheries awaiting Fontaine's arrival.

"I'm sure he'll be fine by this evening. It's just the heat and-"

She was making excuses for him. Cute.

Sinclair pointed that out as well. "Look at you, makin' excuses for him. He's lucky to have you."

"I'm not making excuses for him," She replied sharply. Touchy subject – go figure.

"He's jus' a li'l wounded 'cause I put the hard line on him," Sinclair quickly recovered, smoothing the situation over. "Jus' business."

"Oh."

"I'm sure he won't take it out on you, Miss Camille. He likes you. There's power in havin' a man like Frank Fontaine depend on you the way he does. Don't forget that."

"Let me walk you out."

Sinclair held his hand up to stop her. "That's alright, darlin', I'll see myself out. It was a pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand to her which she firmly took.

"Have a good day, Mr. Sinclair."

"Make sure you get those engineers onto fixin' the air conditionin'. I'd hate to see you shrivel up in a place like this." He fucking winked at her… _Her_ shrivel up, I'm in the air ducts for Christ's sake. The metal almost was too hot to handle. Hephaestus should be the only place I wear sleeves when crawling through the ducts – not Fontaine Futuristics.

I shook my head and crawled back towards the bathysphere station to wait for him to return. I dropped out of the vents near the maintenance office and emerged myself in the small crowd of people milling about either waiting for the okay from the operator to go or waiting for their friends to arrive. I leaned against the wall to wait for Sinclair, appreciating the cool air around the bathysphere station despite the number of people.

"Hello, stranger," Sinclair greeted with a smirk. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and braced himself for the inevitable yelling he was about to receive. "You look a little sweaty."

"I will have a firm discussion with you later about having me wait in a hotter than hell air vent while you talk business with Fontaine. Right now, I just want to get out of here and get something cold to drink," I stated giving him the stink eye.

"Are you feelin' all right, darlin'?" He asked trying to bring the anger off of him a little. "Maybe you need one of Dr. Hollcroft's Cure-All. That's what the people of Pauper's Drop get right?"

I shot him a glare. "Do you have any idea what is actually in that? It's only sea-water, fish guts, your whole-sale hypos and a couple ounces of ADAM in each bottle. It's just a placebo. Doesn't do anything."

"Capitalism."

We were given the clear to enter Sinclair's bathysphere and return to his office building. It was right to business once we were locked in his office again. "So, what do you think about Miss Adler?" He asked. His hands folded together without thinking.

I leaned against the coral desk with my back turned to him. "Personally, I think she's going to get eaten if she doesn't drop the goody-two-shoes act, but then again I'm sure Fontaine has gotten that point across all ready."

"What about gettin' her to cooperate with me? I need every angle I can get on ol' Franky. He's dangerous."

"Surprisingly, it should be easy. Just keep giving the charming smile and she should be yours. You won't rat her out to Fontaine which would give you brownie points. Someone like her will need a shoulder to cry on since she's going to be isolated from her normal group of friends. Working with Fontaine has gotten you that foothold with her. Fontaine's one scary sonnova bitch and not many people are willing to openly talk about him, except..."

"Except me."

"Exactly. You seem to be the only person I know who isn't terrified of him."

Sinclair chuckled and lit himself a smoke. "You do business as long as I have you learn to not let Fontaine's type get the better of you. I may not be a conman, but I can think like a conman."

They elapsed into silence for a few moments before Sinclair grinned out of nowhere. "What?" I asked, wondering that the man had on his mind.

"You think my smile is charmin'?"

I groaned and leapt up into the air vent before he could ask any more stupid questions to stagger me again.

Damn Sinclair. Catching me on an obvious slip up on my part. Sinclair was a charming bastard; there was no denying it having used his charm to get him a lot of business. He knew that! Why did he specifically point out that _I_ had called his smile charming?

I banged my head sharply against the metal walls of the air vent and sighed. Damn Sinclair.

"Wha's tha'? Rat in the vents?" I heard someone question, with the level of speech of a backwater redneck. Splicer...

Bullets ricocheted through the thin metal walls of my means of travel making me unconsciously yelped and crawl frantically to get away. "I'll get dis rat!" The metal grate directly behind me burst up and in crawled one of those Crawlers.

"Shit!" I groaned crawling as fast as I could. There was no way I was going to make it; the closest vent was Sinclair's. But maybe if I double around... Sinclair's section of air vents traveled almost completely in a square with two drop off points that I could slip around if I move correctly and if I was lucky, the Crawler would fall down the dead fall and I'd lose him.

A hook nearly got my shoe. Settled! I kicked back to startle the splicer long enough for me to get a few seconds head start.

The first drop off came around and I grabbed the other side of the vent pulling myself over. The splicer repeated my action, but his lower half fell into the drop off. I scrambled to gain some distance as he managed to scramble his way back into the chase. "C'mere girlie! I won't hurt'cha!" He taunted, his hooks clanking against the metal walls.

The second drop off was around a corner making it a little more difficult to prevent one from falling down the drop. I lay on my side and pulled myself around the corner a little slower than I should have... A hook got buried my leg making me scream. It was a miracle that my other foot had connected with the splicers head, forcing him to release his grip on the hook. I had no time to pull the hook out so I stomached the pain and dragged myself using pure upper body strength towards the open vent leading into Sinclair's office.

I could almost smell his cologne breezing through the vent, the smell of his cigarette with real tobacco, the sound of his pen scratching across whatever paperwork he was doing; all of it beautiful right about now because that meant help. My hand reached the lip of the vent like reaching the finish line.

I spun around just as the splicer gave a leap at me forcing us through the hole and into Sinclair's office. My back slammed painfully into the carpeted floor that did little to cushion my fall; the hook in my leg dug in deeper causing me to scream.

Sinclair shot up in his seat at the sight of the splicer and me. "Jamie!"

"Get security!" I shouted grabbing the splicer's hand still holding a hook. Sinclair weaved around his desk and ran out the door to so as I said.

"Gettin' help? That's not very nice!" The splicer laughed maniacally bringing his arm down again.

My knee shifted between our bodies and I kicked as hard as I could to send the splicer across the room. I scrambled on my hands and one foot until I reached the stand with a potted plant situated on top and cracked it against the splicer's temple, knocking him right the fuck out. I was surprised the vase didn't break, until I realized it was made from coral.

Dropping the vase, I leaned against the bookshelf besides the stand, out of breath and out of my sanity. It had been months since I had a real fight with a splicer that caused any sort of damage... The pain rocketed up my leg when the adrenaline started to fade. "Fuck..." I cursed gripping my leg tight to try and alleviate some of the burning pain, but it did little. Blood soaked Sinclair's carpet around the leg with the hook still in it.

Clenching my jaw tight, my hand wrapped around the hook imbedded in my flesh. With one final scream, the hook came out and was thrown at the splicer's body. Fuck plasmids, fuck ADAM, fuck Rapture...

Sinclair returned within a few short minutes with about 4 burly guards to drag the splicer out.

He kneeled in front of me and touched my sweaty forehead. "You alright, Hawkeye?" He asked before his other hand fell into the blood pool on the floor. "Marcus!" He called out to the trailing burly guard. "We need to get her to Medical." He tore of his jacket and pressed it to the injury.

"Yessir."

"Sinclair, no. I'm fine. I just need to get-"

"You need to get your butt to Medical before you lose the leg. Don't argue with me, Hawkeye!" Despite the nickname, I knew he was angry that I was even fighting against going to Medical despite the damage and blood loss. I – for once – stayed silent and let him do what he wanted.


	8. A Nest of Spies

The walk to the bathysphere was quiet, Marcus practically carrying me the whole way. The ride all the more so. It wasn't until we were in the Medical Pavilion that he said something. "That was foolish of you," He stated starting on his 4th cigarette since the fight in his office.

I only gave him a weak glare and held his suit jacket to the bleeding. "I'm sorry. Next time I'll just let the splicer kill me."

"That's not what I meant, Jamie."

"Then what did you mean? Explain it to me because that sounded like an accusation."

Sinclair looked me dead in the eye and said, "You fought one of those splicers by yourself. I didn't know if it'd kill you before I could get there with help. Darlin', I'll admit I was worried."

I let out a shaky breath to calm myself down. Sinclair was in his right to worry; I just took down a splicer with one of his potted plants right smack dab in his office. The blood stain from my leg would probably never come out and he'd probably have to get it replaced. "Sorry."

Steinman was quick to get me into surgery to repair my leg and judging by the noises he was making, I'm lucky I didn't lose the damn leg. "There was obvious damage to the leg muscle, but thankfully no major arteries and veins were ruptured. I've repaired what I could and have stitched up the injury. She'll have to stay off her leg for a few weeks to allow it to heal properly," Steinman advised. "Were you thinking of getting her a nose job while she's in?"

Sinclair gave him a look and said, "No thank you." Steinman shrugged, _suit yourself_.

The crutches were a pain in the ass to work and if Sinclair wasn't there, I would have ditched them. I was on enough morphine to at least get me to my apartment without feeling a thing. "You heard the doc," Sinclair smiled sympathetically at me. "You have to stay off the leg for a while."

"But what about work?" I questioned.

Sinclair waved his hand and said, "I'll just give you jobs that won't require the use of the air vents. Don't you worry your pretty little head. Maybe you can start a spy ring? Who knows?"

I mused the idea of starting a spy ring working for Sinclair. It would sure save me time and shorten the list of people. Rapture was a large population rife with people who either hate Ryan or Fontaine and are clever enough to remain undetected. It was be a possibility I would look in to with several people already in mind.

"Sinclair?" I looked up at his taller figure.

"Call me Augustus. Yes?"

I looked down at my feet and shifted awkwardly. "Augustus... Thanks. I don't think I've ever thanked you during this whole mess."

He smiled. "It's no problem, Jamie. As we've agreed, I take care of my assets."

I smiled as well. "Yeah. And I'm the best asset you have."

He patted my back lightly as if he was afraid he'd damage me more. "Without a doubt, darlin'."

With his help, I got into his bathysphere and his driver took us to Apollo Square. Sinclair didn't just leave me in the station as I expected him to. No, he got out and helped me all the way home earning a few stares from the people around us, but I was hurt and they could fuck off. He opened the door to my apartment for me and settled me on the couch asking if I was comfortable. He offered to get me a glass of water which was when I chose to stop him.

"Augustus!" I exclaimed. "I'm okay. I can take it from here. Go home. It's late." Sinclair left, but not before hesitating at the door and giving me one last look over.

Fighting for my life once again really got me thinking about that damned southern yank: Augustus Sinclair drove me absolutely nuts, but he meant well. The man was infuriatingly charming and despite the barrier I had up to keep men like him out, he worked to gain my favor by giving the option of freedom and safety from the demons that prowled the night. He gave me a home, gave me money, and gave me his undivided attention when we conversed and what did I give him in return? Information and the cold shoulder half the time.

He wasn't even that bad looking either… Okay, he's handsome. I was mostly being distracted by my annoyance of the Panamanian to even notice. He wasn't built per se, but trimmed enough to make him appealing to look at which was perfect for business. His charcoal black hair was gelled with every hair in place; I couldn't even see the gray that should have been there. I couldn't decide if his hair was natural and the gray hadn't come in yet or if he dyed it. His eyes were an entrancing shade of green that lured you in to giving up your wallet, but they were looking at me with a concern I never thought he had. I could tell his skin was once tanned, but years in Rapture had depleted the color to a shade of pale that matched everyone else. He wasn't intimidating like Fontaine, but could still control a room with the wave of a hand.

Augustus Sinclair got on every nerve in my body, but quite frankly I wouldn't have had it any other way. Picturing my life without Sinclair was like a fish without water to put it into words.

Damn grateful I was...

He was a wealthy and successful businessman who knew how to play someone like a harp while I was a Pauper's Drop duct-rat that used to have no penny to my name or any form of status.

He wasn't a saint by far. Sinclair had his fingers where they shouldn't belong and smiled in the face of someone else's misfortune if it meant gaining him a profit and would sell paradise if it meant he'd get a fat wad of cash to line his pockets. But for a moment, I could convince myself that he genuinely cared about me and my safety instead of the damage done to his office and the profit he'd be losing. If it wasn't the case, I'd rather not hear it. I would rather believe the lie that he cared just to live in the fantasy a little longer.

If there was a God out there, he definitely delivered Grace Holloway and Augustus Sinclair to me; Grace delivered in a beautiful package with a bow and Sinclair in a package wrapped in newspaper that made the opener think _it's the thought that counts._

My hand found the remote and I flipped on the telly, watching Rapture's news channel to numb my mind.

* * *

><p>My leg ached in its wrap as the nurse finished her wrap job. These trips to the Medical Pavilion were starting to piss me off since my clothes were starting to stink of antiseptic and death, but only because Sinclair insisted did I even step foot in the place to get my cast changed out. I was set to burn every poster of Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals in the middle of the room if I had to stare at it any longer. I was more keen to set Steinman on fire if he asked about my nose one more time; I liked my nose the way it was and he'd have to get over it. I didn't care how much of a master cosmetic surgeon he was, I was not going to stoop as low as most of the women in Rapture who would flock to get their face sliced open by Steinman's scalpel for the look of beauty.<p>

"Well it looks like after a week the injury has healed enough to where you don't need to use crutches anymore. But please be cautious with whatever activity you do for it may open the injury again and that is not something you'd want," The nurse informed politely filling out a few things on the clipboard. "Thank you for coming, Miss Hawkeye."

Thank god. I was done with the damn crutches for a lifetime. I had almost run into Camille when she was heading for the bathysphere station which I had just come out of. Didn't know where she was going since I haven't been able to crawl around the vents in a week.

Things were going interesting between Sinclair and Adler from what I am led to believe. He had informed me of their dinner they had at the Kashmir during the party Cohen was throwing to show off a bit of his new show or something like that. Sinclair had managed to convince her to come eat dinner when him when she was showing some jealousy of Jasmine Jolene, who was pregnant with Ryan's kid (Sinclair laughed when he heard this). Ryan of course didn't know about the pregnancy. The gold of the evening: Fontaine had left her alone at the Kashmir to find her own way back to Olympus Heights and she had gone to Sinclair for help. I was ear-raped with the details, but something scared the shit out of me as I was listening to it: Jealousy.

I always thought I wasn't a jealous person, but apparently this girl getting escorted home by Sinclair struck a nerve that I didn't even know had existed until then.

I exited the examination room with a minor limp – happy to be rid of my crutches – in time to see two splicers going at it over whose ADAM was whose with Electrobolt and the new Telekinesis plasmid. I thought nothing of it until someone shouted, "Miss Adler!" I was in the crowd in an instant, watching the spectacle. The poor woman was on the ground holding her bleeding head from a picture frame projectile. The two splicers were brought under control and dragged away. Someone from Fontaine's marketing was helping Adler to her feet. Gary? Garret? Garris Fisher. "Can you stand?" He asked once he got her upright. She looked around the room trying to focus – I was sure our eyes met once.

Adler's eyes shut from the pain she was in before her knees buckled again. I shook my head and disappeared into the crowd. Up close, she was pretty, thin and all in all the type of woman Sinclair would take notice of.

"Look at what you did to my clinic!" Steinman shouted over the uproar of people trying to get out of the area and out of the doctor's way.

I returned to Sinclair's office and informed Sinclair of the incident down in the Medical Pavilion. He immediately asked, "Is Miss Camille all right?" It struck a nerve again, but I repressed it.

"She'll be fine."

Sinclair nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. "Very well. Are you up for the vents tomorrow?" He asked and I nodded. "Splendid! I know you don't like Franky, but I need you to listen in to a little scheme I know he's up to. Your report of another orphanage got me interested an' I want to make sure I know if I can capitalize on it. I want you to listen in an' see what you hear. Go home an' relax off those pain killers. See ya tomorrow, darlin'," he smiled giving me a wave as I hobbled out. I had failed to tell Sinclair that Camille had the day off tomorrow, but it was no skin off my back.

My apartment was quiet once again; I didn't even have the telly or the radio on. The neighbors had fallen into a silent haze as well so I didn't hear about how Tommy cheated on Suzie or some nonsense they got into fights about. I could blame it on the pain killers coursing through my veins, but in reality I knew it was about Sinclair.

I propped my injured leg on the arm of my couch and sighed. It was going to be an interesting day tomorrow and I knew Sinclair would drag me along for a sort of security blanket.

My arms crossed over my eyes and let slumber catch up to me so the pain killers could wear off.

* * *

><p>Another Little Sister's Orphanage was opening up in Hestia since the other was filled to capacity already. Little girls go in, barely any come back out. Boys were accepted as well, but it's the girls Fontaine wants for his labs. With ADAM on a short tank, Fontaine's needed a way to keep the ADAM flowing. There was only so many of those slugs around and breeding them seemed to have failed.<p>

I felt lucky that I was too old for the orphanages so no one could grab me and sell me to them. Count the little things in life…

I was a little early to his office than I originally anticipated, sliding into place without any noise to alert the occupants below: Frank Fontaine and his goon outside the door. Larry was nowhere to be seen adding to the idea that I should recruit a few others to do more leg work than I can do.

Watching Fontaine look through his paperwork for an hour was not what I had in mind. I nearly dozed off a few times counting how many sheets of paper he glanced at before stuffing it in a drawer to be forgotten or shredded. Camille had gone off to get some coffee and breakfast for the two at a nearby diner so she wouldn't be around for a while.

There was a hard knock on the door that woke me up from my dozing. "Come in," Fontaine answered, waiting for the door to open up.

That big goon Larry stepped inside, making sure to close the door behind. "You were right, boss," He said, voice low and gravelly. "Josie was fired a week ago. She mentioned a spy working for him and thinks they were involved in getting her fired. Just as you predicted, boss."

Fontaine frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. I could barely keep myself from swearing. That stupid fucking secretary – I should have ended her when I had the chance. Now Fontaine knew about me because of that bitch and the goon. "Any idea who they are?" Fontaine asked, pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket.

"No, sir. She doesn't know who they are. Couldn't even tell if they were a man or woman."

Fontaine grimaced and gnawed on the end of his cigar. I sighed knowing that they didn't have any good information on who exactly I was – they just know Sinclair has a spy. But who doesn't really? Fontaine's got spies in the Fisheries, but only a few have been smart enough to cover their tracks so Fontaine or anyone for that matter would find out. Then again Ryan had spies in his midst as well.

Sinclair as well, but I was diligent to weed them out – like the secretary (that he has yet to replace) and his former Marketing Director (who's now sleeping in the Metro Station). And a security guard. And a few of the finance girls. But that's beside the point.

Fontaine dismissed the bodyguard and lounged back in his chair, puffing on his cigar. I heard a small knock and Camille's blonde head popping in with the coffee and breakfast. Fontaine wouldn't discuss something like this with her, under the impression that anyone could be a spy. The girl hasn't worked for him that long for trust to be formed. He still checked the intercom to see who she was talking to on the phone from time to time.

Fontaine finished his breakfast quick before calling Camille to his side and leaving. I dropped down outside of the Little Sisters Orphanage in Hestia and stayed close enough to hear but far enough to keep suspicion to a low. I stole a newspaper from a nearby trashcan and pretended to be interested in its contents when Fontaine and Camille arrived. Andrew Ryan was going to be swinging by for an inspection and a chat… I say 'chat' very loosely.

Looking inside the orphanage, I was amazed at the rows of bunk beds lining the walls and little girls already adorning the walls with crayon drawings of flowers and rainbows. At the end, surrounded by little girls, was Brigid Tenenbaum looking over a clip board while the girls (and one boy) tried to get her attention. Fontaine whistled catching her off guard.

Brigid Tenenbaum was a bird of a woman, a brilliant scientist who unfortunately got her skills from a German concentration camp during the Holocaust. She was thin and unassuming at first, quiet and patient – perfect qualities of a scientist. She made a name for herself for discovering ADAM and more afterward, but all for Fontaine Futuristics. I could guess she was here for the little girls for her experiments with the ADAM slugs.

"Yes. I have been assessing these new girls," I overheard Tenenbaum rattle off. "Many of them are healthy – good weight, good height, no sicknesses – but some are small and thin and not good at all. I will take the healthy ones but, Frank, you must build up the other ones, yes? I need all the test subjects I can get. The more, the better."

"Hey, miss?" I nearly had a heart attack when someone tugged on my sleeve. I glanced down and noticed it was the little boy who had pickpocketed me a few months ago.

He had grown a bit taller now (almost to my shoulder), his blonde hair choppy and in his hazel eyes. He was missing a few teeth, probably fallen out to let his adult teeth grow in. The splash of freckles across his cheeks and nose would make an grown woman want to pinch them, but thankfully for him I was not one of those motherly women.

"What are you doing here, kid?" I questioned, taking his arm and tugging him away so that Fontaine or someone wouldn't see me in a light that wasn't a passersby.

The boy glanced at the ground and shuffled his feet. "My pa dropped me off here. Said I'd be better off. My ma died a few months ago an' pa an' I were hungry. He said that I'd be safe here an' wouldn't be hungry." I frowned and bit the inside of my cheek. This kid would only be forgotten in the orphanage since it was the girls they valued.

Sinclair's words came back about the spy ring. A kid like him who already knows how to pickpocket would work… I smiled down at the kid. "What's your name, kid?"

He smiled back and answered, "Patrick, miss. Patrick McManus."

"Irish, eh? Sure this place could give you a decent life, not much of one, but a life, but how about this: You work for me and you could live at my place. I have a spare room that's only been serving as storage. You get a safe place to sleep and food when you like."

The boy frowned as well, giving me a suspicious look. "What's in it for you?" He questioned, crossing his arms.

"You're smart. Information is my business, but it's harder for me to get to all the places I need to be. All I want you to do is take an Accu-Vox to the destination I tell you and listen in on the person I need info on. I can also guess you're smart enough to tell me any observations you may have and pickpocket anything of interest: say a note passed and the like. What do you say, Patrick?"

"Like that reporter guy that hangs out in front of Fontaine's place?"

"Like him, but unseen and unheard."

He started to look excited. "Like a spy? Like in _Mr. Standfast_?"

I didn't want to know where he had read such a book, maybe one of his parents used to read it to him or something. "Do we have a deal?" I asked, holding out my hand.

Ecstatically, he grabbed my hand and shook it. He ran off to collect his belongings and I watched Fontaine and Camille leave the orphanage – Camille watching Andrew Ryan (who had arrived only a few minutes prior) closely while Fontaine purposely ignored the tycoon. Ryan only shook his head at the two and led the group away to another part of the Hestia Chambers.

Patrick came rushing back with a small box filled with his belongings. She jerked her head toward the Metro station as a hint to follow her, which he did. Patrick rambled on about how great it was going to be as a spy, asking me all sorts of questions like what 'gadgets we get' or if 'we wear costumes'. I almost could have laughed at his enthusiasm. The boy had just turned 10 apparently and he was very proud of it.


	9. Slum Bird

I staggered out of my room at the sharp shrilling of the phone that was about to be broken for disturbing my sleep. "Sinclair..." I growled tearing the phone off the receiver. "Yes?"

_"Guess what! You're goin' to be needed today."_

"Because you're going to be walking through Pauper's Drop to the Limbo Room. I know. You told me a few days ago." I twirled the cord around a finger habitually. It was where Stanley had arranged for us to meet. Sinclair had surprised me saying he would take the meeting this time, but I knew he would ask Miss Adler to come.

_"An' the great Hawkeye sees all."_

"I'll go to Pauper's Drop. Try not to get Adler killed," I sighed before setting the phone gingerly on the receiver.

The second bedroom door opened and little Patrick, rubbing his eyes, wandered out. "Who was that, ma'am?"

"Our boss. I'm going to the Limbo Room. Until then," I reached into a drawer and pulled out and Accu-Vox and a screwdriver. "After school, I need you to listen in on a session of Lamb's with Mike Novak. The session is scheduled for 3:30, so don't be late. Sound easy enough?" He nodded excitedly. "If anyone asks what you're doing, pretend you're trying to get the speakers to work and that you're waiting for your dad." He took the items from me and retreated back into his room to get ready for school.

Sucking up my pride, I cleaned up my bandages and changed them out again and changed into a clean pair of clothes. With one last look in the mirror (noting several more scars decorating my face), I was out the door, leaving some cash on the table for Patrick. It was going to take a bit to get used to him being there…

The familiar hum of the neon of the King Pawn sign was a welcomed relaxation as I scanned over the crowds of workers and the downtrodden. A few even pointed up to me, probably realizing that I was back in my spot again after being out of it for so long. I nearly missed the solitude and the quiet, but then again I was starving to death when I was up here every day and slept in the Grace's dressing room on the floor instead of my bed now.

Looking around this place, despite being damp all the time and covered in dirt and grime, it was home. Like returning to your roots despite how it all started; good or ill. The people were still the same, still the same bitter, overworked, underpaid, often homeless creatures wandering the neighborhood just trying to make ends meet. It was very rare that someone on the bottom rung of society would gain any sort of status enough to get out of Pauper's Drop. The cases of myself and Fitzpatrick were definitely a miracle. I went on to sell my soul to a demon while Fitzpatrick went to dazzle the stage with his natural talent. There were a few splicers around and the injury on my leg burned at the sight of them, but they paid me no mind. It was like this place was my own safety blanket.

My attention was drawn to the new faces that had arrived: Sinclair and Adler. They made a B-line for the Limbo Room, just as Sinclair said. Sinclair gave me a sideways glance before gesturing his head toward the Limbo discretely to avoid any unnecessary attention from Camille. I shook my head and crawled down slowly to avoid agitating my leg which hurt enough as it did.

The welcomed jazz music made the sides of my lips curl just a little. Camille and Sinclair had taken a table with a clear view of the stage. I leaned against the back wall within earshot of the two. "Lemme get you a drink," Sinclair offered, giving her a grin. "Although, I can't promise it'll be any good."

"I don't mind, Mr. Sinclair," She answered, "Some wine would be lovely."

"Done. Sit tight an' I'll be right back." He stood up and made his way towards me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the front bar area asking, "Do you have anythin' good to drink down here?"

I hated to dash his hopes, but I answered, "Mostly bathtub brewed stuff. The wine is shit."

"Not even imports?"

"The people are too poor to afford even the cheapest of imports. Sorry to disappoint."

Sinclair shook his head and said, "Understandable. Not your fault."

He ordered the 'best' wine the Limbo Room sold and returned to where Adler was sitting patiently. The bartender gave me a look and cocked his head toward Sinclair. He rasped, "What's 'e doin' down 'ere?"

"I'm wondering that myself."

"'e never stays down 'ere for more than an hour. An' 'e's normally in his 'otel, not 'ere."

"I know." I gave the bartender a nod before moving back in to the club and resumed my spot.

"I don't understand, though," Camille said. I must have dropped in the middle of a conversation. "I always thought this place was just a maintenance area. It's so poorly constructed; I don't know why anybody's living here?"

Excuse me?

"Well, nobody was supposed to be livin' down here once the city was finished. Andy Ryan promised that the housin' was only temporary an' only for the builders," Sinclair tried his best to explain.

"Then why are there people still here? People who _aren't_ workers?"

He shrugged. "When you've been at the bottom long enough, honey, it's hard to start climbin' the ladder. An' to be honest, Andy Ryan doesn't want these slobs in his city. He'd rather they were hidden away down here."

I couldn't believe what I was just hearing. We were nothing but slobs to him? Then what did that make me? He claimed that he cared about me, but would openly voice what he really thought of the people down here even when he knew I was less than 5 feet away? To say I was angry would be an understatement. Livid perhaps. I didn't really care for the people of Pauper's Drop to go out of my way to help them, but I was one of them whether I liked it or not.

"That's a terrible thing to say, Mr. Sinclair." Well that surprised me. My blood started to cool down.

"It keeps me in business, honey!"

"That's not exactly the response I was looking for, you know." Camille looked at little annoyed with Sinclair at the moment. Glad I'm not the only one.

Sinclair made a non-committal grunt, enjoying as best as he could the last of his cigarette. Sinclair's gaze repeatedly fell on me, silently asking if I had spotted Stanley Poole yet which was met with a shake of my head. Stanley had yet to show hide or hair all night so far. Made me think that he was going to ditch us.

Camille had noticed his gaze and tried to see who he was looking at. I kicked off the wall and moved out of the club to get a something to drink at the bar since my throat felt dry. When I returned with a glass of water, Grace had taken the stage making me smile. She was dressed in a beautiful blue gown with a white scarf loosely draped around her shoulders.

"Why isn't she singing in better establishments?" Camille had asked, stopping me in my tracks. "She's got a fantastic voice!" I glanced up at Grace again. I was glad someone agreed with me, but Ryan would never allow. She sang the blues when Ryan only wants songs that promote Rapture and himself. But now… She was singing songs about Rapture, praising it out of her fear that Ryan would come for her, even when I made sure that would never happen.

"Because Ryan won't have her singin' any o' her depressin' tunes - they won't resonate with a lot of people. He only wants to hear people singin' good things about the city."

As much as Sinclair was right, it didn't feel any better. Grace deserved so much more than this dump. If she was allowed, she could rule Fort Frolic; people flocking to hear her beautiful voice, buying her records and praising her achievements. Instead, she's in this dump singing her broken heart out since no one knows that James is gone nor what happened to him.

They didn't talk about anything else other than Sofia Lamb who had arrived to watch Grace sing. I hadn't met the ice queen in person before, just would notice her when she'd travel around the Drop. She was a genius from what the citizens would spout on about when they'd go to her sessions and every day a new patron would be wearing a butterfly pin; the Blue Morpho. Grace praised the very ground Sofia walked on which made this job a little more difficult to do. Thankfully I wasn't the one collecting info on Sofia, Stanley was.

Speaking of Stanley, he walked past me, the stench of sweat back-handing me across the face. Did the man shower at all? "Ah, Mr. Sinclair," He greeted in his typical shaky tone. "I... I didn't think I'd see you here." Meaning he was expecting me. I guess he didn't know which was worse.

"Well, hello to you too, Stanley," Sinclair greeted, grabbing Camille's hand. "This is Miss Adler. We're just here, enjoyin' the show." He leaned in and said more deliberate, "Jus' seein' how you're gettin' on."

"Real good, Mr. Sinclair, _real good._" Wrong answer.

"Well, that's jus' dandy. I'm thrilled that _all_ my money is yieldin' results which are _real good_," Sinclair snapped. "I got Ryan pullin' at my pants leg like a li'l neglected childs so I'm gonna need more than _real good._ Otherwise, I'm sure I can find someone else to do this job for me." If he was insinuating me I was going to hurt him.

"No, Mr. Sinclair, I can do this. I..." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small, worn notebook. "I got all this here. It's _gold_. Christ, some of the shit this woman talks about in session... Well, you can read it later." Translation: Hawkeye can read it later.

"And?"

"And _this guy_ just got an invitation to one of her movie screenings in Dionysus Park!" He seemed so proud, someone get him a fucking pony.

Sinclair grinned at the information. "Atta boy, Stanley."

"She told me it's a place where I can think freely and not be chained down by Ryan's politics. All I gotta do is keep wearing this stupid bug badge and I'm in. Too easy!"

"Well, Stanley, you've outdone yourself," Sinclair said, shooting me a look to follow up on it. "Jus' get all you can about those free thinkin' sessions and I'll be able to throw Andy Ryan a bone."

"Got it," Stanley said getting up and leaving, myself following behind him.

Once we were outside, I grabbed Stanley by the back of his neck and pulled him toward the back alley between the King Pawn sign and an apartment complex. "Sinclair wasn't kidding," I said pushing Stanley into the wall.

"H-Hawkeye?! What a surprise!" He stammered his hands up showing his surrender.

"Lamb goes down soon. Clear?"

"Yeah, yeah, Crystal clear, I hear ya!" He slid along the wall before he had put enough distance between me and him to take off in a sprint.

Suddenly, I felt more like a thug than a duct-rat. I scratched the back of my neck at the notion. Stanley was downright terrified of me, but how many others would be in the long run. Was I just another slob as Sinclair had called us? The insults never bothered me before having been a duct-rat for most of my life in Rapture; the name originating from the upper-class and lower-class alike, but to hear the simple word 'slob' from Sinclair really hit me.

I crawled back up to the King Pawn sign and sat as comfortably as I could. Sinclair and Adler finally emerged from the Limbo Room in a relative silence. Sinclair didn't even shoot me a passing glance, just kept Adler tucked under his arm and escorted her to the train station.

I sniffed in displeasure and relaxed against the neon sign, letting the hum of the electricity sooth away my stress. I checked the time and swore to myself when I noticed it was clear past 4 o'clock. Patrick!

I rushed home as quick as I could, letting out a sigh of relief when I found him sitting outside my door waiting to be let in. He grinned when he saw me, standing up to greet me. "Ma'am! I did as you wanted! Got the tape and everything! No one paid attention to me!" He exclaimed. He startled me by grabbing my hand. "Did I do a good job?"

I nodded once which seemed to appease him. He handed me the Accu-Vox and we both went inside. He rushed to his room saying he had homework and I quickly listened to the recording he took to see if it was good enough to give to Sinclair. It sounded pretty clear, which meant he was pretty close. Kid was smarter than I originally anticipated. "Hey, kid," I called out.

He rushed out of his room and stood next to me expectantly. "Where were you when you recorded this? It's almost crystal clear."

He smiled at that. "Outside a window that she had open," He answered, a spark of pride coming through.

I ruffled his hair and said, "Good job, kid." I tucked the spool of tape into the pocket of my trousers. "I'm going to make one more stop and then I'm going to Sinclair's office. I won't be home till 7. I need you to do one more thing before I get home." I pulled a pad and pen from the desk drawer and scrawled a quick note on the sheet of paper. I ripped it away from the binding and handed it to Patrick. "Deliver this to Charles Kempton. He lives in the Sinclair Deluxe, apartment 113. Got it?"

Patrick nodded and pocketed the note.

* * *

><p>I dropped through the air vent in Sinclair's office, muttering a greeting to Sinclair and dropped off the reel Patrick collected and the Accu-Vox reel I stole from Jasmine Jolene where she admitted that she was pregnant and that she sold the egg to Fontaine. What Fontaine would want with Jolene's spawn was a mystery to me, but I was not about to find out either. Learn the wrong thing and one would end up as either another body floating in the ocean or a stain on the floor, wall and ceiling. I said nothing to him as he took the reels in hand and smiled, congratulating me and Patrick on being able to retrieve them without fuss.<p>

That night at the Limbo Room was still fresh in my mind, a simple burning in the back of my skull. I knew the kind of person I was dealing with when it came to Sinclair, but it still hurt to hear from him that the people of Pauper's Drop, like myself, were nothing but slobs in his eyes. He had said it was Ryan who thought so, but Ryan had more _colorful_ words to describe us with the intellect of a college education behind it.

I gave a nod and turned to leave, but he stopped me. "What's on your mind, Jamie? You've been quiet for a few days now. Patrick all right?" Of course Sinclair has noticed my silence.

"Patrick's fine. It's nothing."

Sinclair stood up and rounded the desk until he was in front of me. "There is somethin'. You're givin' me the silent treatment again. I thought we were past this, Hawkeye. Come on, you can tell me."

I shook my head and jumped up into the vent. I heard him sigh and strike a match to light another cigarette.

It made me realize just how much I had let Sinclair in, even more than Grace. Grace knew my name of course, but I couldn't tell her that I worked for Sinclair because I couldn't trust that she wouldn't voice it to Lamb. I had told Sinclair that Grace was completely off limits showing that I was close to the woman when no one else knew about mine and Grace's relationship aside from James. And the fact that I had mentioned Grace specifically showed I had no one else, not even my mother. I'd like to think that Sofia Lamb doesn't even know about me, but I didn't know what Grace would say during their meetings; my respect for Grace and guilt keeping me from eavesdropping on the jazz singer.

I needed a burger from the Fighting McDonagh's.

It seemed like forever since my last burger there. Sinclair kept me pretty busy and Miss Adler did not stay in one place for long. I actively avoided her when she was in the company of Fontaine, but outside of work, she still did not remain in one place.

I also learned the hard way that Ryan Amusements put security turrets in the maintenance shafts. The air ducts around there did not travel through most of the park for any good advantage points forcing me to purchase my own ticket in. I had never been to Ryan Amusements prior to that day, but I was not impressed by it; especially not the ride Journey to the Surface. A bunch of bullshit if I do say so myself.

But the children seemed to enjoy it regardless if it was more a shrine to Ryan than an amusement park.

The Fighting McDonagh's wasn't full yet since most of its regulars were still at work either in the Fisheries or in Hephaestus. McDonagh was working thankfully and when he saw me come in, he slid an already made burger in front of a seat by the bar. "Missed my burger girl," He commented his Cockney accent as thick as always.

"Thanks..." I muttered taking a seat. The burger was probably the best I ever had and I gave McDonagh praise.

He shook his head and said, "It's not the best. Can't get much without good meat."

"Yes, but let's face it: there's nothing better than a burger made on a grill that didn't start out as a frozen patty."

McDonagh snorted in agreement and went back to talking with another customer.

McDonagh was probably the only person on Ryan's council that I respected. He was an older man with a thick mustache and trimmed beard, his eyes a shade of brown and the hair on his head streaked with gray. He was dressed in a simple work shirt, dark pants with overall straps going over his shoulders. His blue tie was loosened up from working all day, but it didn't do much to affect his look of strength. When he wasn't running the Fighting McDonagh's Tavern, he was working maintenance around Rapture which surprised people since he was a member of the council. One would think that he'd get someone to do the work for him.

I guess he still liked to do an honest day's work before going home to the wife, if he had one. He didn't since she died a few years after coming to Rapture of lung cancer. That was all anyone really had known about his wife that he was willing to say; probably too painful which was understandable.

He seemed to be Ryan's conscience when it came to decisions in the city and is probably the only one who realized the amount of unrest the poor population of Rapture have. If my information was correct, he was the one who convinced Ryan to agree to the series of debates with Sofia Lamb.

I finished my burger, ordered another for Patrick and left the exact total for my bill and a little more for a tip. McDonagh nodded his head as I said, "I'll be back, McDonagh." I picked up the styrofoam container of food and left.

The train ride back to Apollo Square from Neptune's Bounty was quiet; no one else in the car I was on. The train temporarily stopped at Pauper's Drop and surprisingly, Sofia Lamb stepped aboard. My breath hitched in my throat at her height; she was a good 182 cm tall compared to my meager 162 cm. She sat down in a seat across from me and rested her satchel on her lap.

I did not look at her out of the corner of my eye thankfully. I hoped she wouldn't recognize me from the Limbo Room.

Lady Luck would not be that merciful.

The train kicked into motion while the conductor announced, "Next stop: Apollo Square."

Lamb glanced over at me and cocked her head to the side. "You are Grace's friend." It wasn't a question, which was what I was afraid of.

"How would you know that?"

Sofia gave me a warm smile. "Grace speaks often of you, very fondly I might add. She also carries a picture of you with her. She describes you as a child she never had. I'm sure you are aware of what occurred with her husband James?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Thank you for going to see her about the matter." I nodded and looked forward, trying to end the conversation. "Perhaps you could indulge me for a moment," She started. "Grace says that you have recently taken up work. Perhaps you might tell me who you work for? Grace was worried about you and your work since you seem to be getting injured."

"Sorry, but if Grace has told you anything it's I don't talk to shrinks."

Sofia hummed in understanding. "She mentioned you are not one who trusts easily, much less a doctor like me. I just wish to ease her fears." More like not trusting the woman brainwashing almost all of Pauper's Drop, Grace included, with her ideals. "In any matter, perhaps you could come with Grace to Dionysus Park. It is a retreat I have established, free of Andrew Ryan's politics and oppressions," Sofia handed me a flyer explaining everything about it.

"No thanks." I handed the flyer back to her and kept my gaze focused on what was outside of the train car.

The train finally pulled into the station in Apollo Square and I swiftly got to my feet. Much to my dismay, Lamb stood as well following me out the open doorway. I ignored her mostly, taking note that she was following me to the Artemis Suites. As I walked up the stairs, I exhaled in relief when Sofia Lamb stopped to talk to a client of hers.

I was in my apartment quicker than ever, slamming the door behind me which startled Patrick. I pressed my back against the door and slid down to the ground, letting out a puff of air.

Now I can say I've met Sofia Lamb face to face. Something I never want to do again. Sofia Lamb may have made Grace happy, but that didn't mean I enjoyed her presence in the least. Her height contributed to that fact. The woman definitely made one think they should get on their knees and pray while she spoke, something I was not too keen on doing.

Patrick rushed over to me and kneeled next to me. "You alright, ma'am?"

I nodded and sighed. "Just a run-in with Dr. Sofia Lamb."

Patrick frowned at the name. "My pa used to see her… Was the reason I was dropped at the orphanage. Pa wanted to be a part'f the Family."

I pushed myself to my feet and handed the styrofoam box to the boy. "Dinner," I said plainly.

He said a quick thank you and plopped himself down in front of the telly, watching whatever animated show was playing.

I sat on the couch and watched it for a little while before I disappeared into my bedroom to get ready for some sort of sleep. I stripped off my blue shirt and black trousers before slipping on a light blue nightgown. I jumped when I heard a knock at my door and prayed silently that it wasn't Sofia. "Patrick, get the door!" I called out. When I heard him get up from the floor, I slipped my robe on and walked carefully to the door trying to avoid making any sort of noise.

Patrick opened the door and greeted, "Hello, Mr. Sinclair!"

I was thankful it wasn't Sofia Lamb, but not too relieved when I noticed it was Augustus Sinclair. The man never learned! "Heya, sport! Miss Donovan home?"

"Yessir, come in!" Patrick stepped out of the way for Sinclair.

Sinclair stepped inside and quickly noticed my glare. "I know! I know! I heard your speech before," He said with his hands raised in surrender.

"So, why are you here?" I asked. "You didn't send any surprises in the mail."

"I know. I came because somethin' is botherin' you and I want to know what is botherin' my favorite asset."

My eyebrow rose at the statement. I glanced down at Patrick and said, "Go to your room."

"But I want to talk to Mr. Sinclair!"

Sinclair patted the boy on the head and ruffled his blonde hair. The only feature keeping people from calling him my son. "We'll chat some other time, sport. For now, I need to talk to your caretaker. Head off to bed now." Patrick's bottom lip stuck out in a pout, but reluctantly went into his room.

I shook my head and gestured to my couch for him to sit. "Want something to drink?" I asked.

He took a seat on the couch and said, "None. I asked you a question, Jamie."

I sighed and sat down on the couch beside him. "Fine. I can't seem to get what you called the people of Pauper's Drop off my mind. Are we just slobs to you?"

Sinclair groaned and smacked his forehead. "I curse my wordin' now. Jamie, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to say it, it just came out."

"But is that what you really think of us? Of me? Of Patrick?"

Sinclair placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. "Jamie, I didn't mean a single word I said. If it wasn't for the Drop, I wouldn't have found you. If I wouldn't have found you, my business wouldn't be doin' as well as it is." He nudged my chin with his finger. "I'm sorry, Jamie. Would you find it in your heart to forgive me?" I looked away and leaned back against the couch. "There's something more, isn't there?"

It was now or never. I didn't have a problem with Miss Adler, but I had a problem with Sinclair's attention to her. "I also have a problem with you sending me to spy on one woman. A woman that you talk to enough on your own. Hell, you went to that carnival with her."

A sparkle made its way into his emerald green eyes. Sinclair let out a laugh and exclaimed, "Jealousy! That's what's been botherin' you?"

I flinched away from him. "I never said it was jealousy!"

"But you're implyin' it. Darlin', what are you jealous of? Miss Camille is just a friend who needs a shoulder to cry on about Fontaine."

"Then why are you having me watch her?"

Sinclair smiled and reclined back against the couch. "Because she's someone to watch. She has access to all of Fontaine's secrets an' business deals. All it'll take is one moment to get her to work for me an' with it: Fontaine's secrets. Any moment of weakness on her part an' gives me another foothold in her life."

"And you want me to figure out those exact moments."

"Exactly. That's the smart Hawkeye I know." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a sort of comforting hug. "Glad to know that you do have a heart in there. Am I forgiven?"

I rolled my eyes before nodding. He drew me in for a tight squeeze; he smelled like expensive cologne and I didn't find the smell at all repulsive. It was spicy, but sweet and there was something distinctly Sinclair mixed in that made it pleasant.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow. You've been workin' hard for 2 years now. I think a break is deserved. Take Patrick to the carnival or something," He suggested, to which I nodded again. He chuckled again. "Are you sure this boy is your employee or your son?"

I gave him a glare. "He's _not_ my son. Sure, I care about the kid, but that's because he's a kid. I'm only keeping him on the blackmail jobs and minor pickpocketing."

Sinclair raised an eyebrow at me, the smile never leaving. "The way I've been seeing it, you've been acting motherly to him. Sure your 'maternal instinct' hasn't kicked in?"

"I think it's time for you to leave."

He stood and took his leave, bidding me a good night.

Sleep came a lot easier then.

I awoke the next morning and started my morning routine: shower, dressed comfortably in a white work shirt again with my dark brown trousers, breakfast with Patrick, brush teeth and pulled my dark hair into a low ponytail. Sinclair didn't have any jobs for me today which was welcomed, but also despised since I had no idea what to do with myself now. I even walked Patrick to school.

Spending several hours cleaning the apartment top to bottom did little to appease the boredom that clamped down on my mind. Reading one of the books from the bookshelf did not hold my attention for long either. Sinclair gave me the day off, but I was about to drive myself crazy with think of something to do. Rapture Television was never good so the telly was out of the question. There seemed to be only one place I could sit for long periods of time without feeling at all bored.

I locked the apartment door behind me and made my way to the train station.

The King Pawn sign did its magic as I settled into my spot. Strange how this place became a comfort when it used to be the only place that I could find that if I fell asleep by accident I wouldn't find a shiv in my belly when I woke up... If I woke up at all. It seemed to be the only place I can even stop and smell the roses as the phrase goes. Between Sinclair and Miss Adler, I couldn't get a moment to rest; it felt like forever since I just sat down.

My smile dropped when I noticed Sullivan and a few of his boys stalk around below.

Lord knows what he was up to now. I jumped down and followed him; for Sullivan to be in Pauper's Drop did not bode well for me. He disappeared into a rundown apartment complex with his boys following close behind him.

They emerged a few minutes later dragging a young boy named Timmy Hoster with them as he kicked and screamed for them to release him. "Now the eggs are in the scramble," Sullivan said into an Accu-Vox. "We picked up Timmy H right after midnight. Either Ryan will be takin' down Fontaine or Fontaine will be takin' down Ryan. We'll be... _interviewing_ poor Timmy near Fontaine Fisheries. If you're up for entertainment, the code is 5380."

They were starting to truly crack down on Fontaine and his smugglers. Figured Ryan would go after Fontaine. The case against Lamb was coming to a close from what Poole was reporting in, so that meant he was going after bigger fish to fry.

Lamb's days were numbered.


End file.
